#emily writes fanfic

[eemolu]

feels like a night to carry a tune

(track three: tide song)

JJ woke up at the insistent blare of his alarm, the scent of coconut shampoo lingering during the split second it took for him to figure out where he was: alone, hungover, in his ridiculously expensive house in Malibu. “Fuck,” he groaned, groping for his phone on the nightstand and managing to hit snooze without lifting his head from the pillow. He had dreamed about her again. Would he ever stop dreaming about her?  He’d tried everything to get her out of his head. He’d slept with girls on tour, and B-list actors, and girls in bars who had no clue who he was. He had tried to fall in love, more than once, and got dumped each time because flowers and sex weren’t enough, apparently. He had even (and still was) trying to date himself, or whatever Sarah called it when she gushed about how important it was to be comfortable being alone. The problem was that he dreamed about Kie no matter what he did. And he never, never told anyone about it.

(complete, 29,659 words)

read on ao3

[xoxbunni]

warnings: softdom!matt, unprotected p in v (don't do it girl), finger sucking, oral fixation in a way?, creampie, pet names (baby, sweetheart, good girl 😩😫)

if you don't feel comfortable with these themes feel free to click out! 💞

matt usually loved your noises during sex. not that he didn't right in his moment but it definitely was an inconvenience while his brothers were downstairs. not aware of the sinful acts happening upstairs in matt's room.

you were in missionary your legs over matt's shoulders as he slowly slammed into you again and again. his thrusts were deep but slow and loving making sure you felt all of him. "ohh!" you moaned as you felt him hit a spongy spot higher up inside you.

"baby i already told you to keep quiet" matt said starting to grow frustrated. "m'sorry! it's t-too mhm good!' you said quick to defend yourself. matt continued to rutt his hips into your wet slick over and over again as you took him whole.

both of his hands were on your knees holding your legs over his shoulders. he moved one hand slowly moving it to your mouth. he fiddled his middle and ring finger into your mouth. "c'mon sweetheart you know what to do" he whispered. your tongue glided around his fingers and you sucked them rollin them around in your mouth.

matt suddenly picked up the pace causing your back to arch taking his fingers deeper in your mouth. "mgh ngh" you moaned, matt's fingers muffling the sound greatly so only matt could hear. the sides of your mouth drooling as matt watched you lustfully.

"fuuuuck baby" he said going faster than before. the pillows placed between the headboard and wall beforehand coming in handy. your eyes rolled back as the familiar knot in your stomach formed as you felt yourself reach your high. "c-close" you managed to whimper

"go on baby it's okay" matt said giving you permission to come. you whimpered around his fingers as you came your pussy clenching around him making him come inside you. he rode both of your highs out and pulled his fingers out your mouth with a wet 'plop'.

"such a good girl f'me hm?"

notes: that photo has me in CHOKEHOLD anywayss my bday in 3 dayss, and tysm for the support on my last fics!! also send requests !!

currently WORKING on masterlist!!

[fawnnlvr]

sixth shot | spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid × fem!bau!reader

masterlist

summary: after each alcoholic shot, you go through drunk phases that the bau have documented, but out of all the times you all have gone out drinking, they never know what happens if you take a sixth shot.

word count: 2.3k

inspiration: that one scene in brooklyn 99 where the others try to see what happens to my queen amy santiago.

content warning: alcohol use. cringe. first time writing a spencer reid fic. maybe a part 2 because the ending has a lot of loose ends.

author's note: i just started watching criminal minds maybe last week. i just finished s1 and i have been nonstop writing fic ideas and this one stuck with me so enjoy my lovebugs. i steered off track as i wrote this so it's a bit of a mess but :3 also, throughout this entire fic, i think you'll be able to tell that i have never really gotten drunk in my life. only half a soju bottle and a bit of my dignity ꪆৎ

Working as an agent at the BAU means that the people you work with are the people you spend most of your life with. Solving cases and locking away criminals is what you bond over and this cones with being with each other through the highs and lows. These nights were one of the highs. After solving a long case, Rossi had made plans for everybody to head back to his place to celebrate over drinks.

You expected the night to be filled with fun and love, but this was the BAU, nothing could ever be great without an underlying evil that preyed on one's downfall. This underlying evil just so happened to be some of your closest friends and coworkers. Well, all of them. As you prepared and got ready for a night of what you think to be fun, you didn't expect people you considered family to be plotting against you.

"What do you guys think will happen?" Penelope asked her phone, an eager smile detected through her tone. She was currently on a five way call with Spencer, Morgan, JJ, and Emily.

"I think after her fifth shot, little miss princess will start doing backflips." Morgan put in his bet.

"I think it'll be too much for her and she'll throw up on Rossi's carpet." JJ guessed

"What are we even talking about?" Emily asked, confused as to what they were talking about and that's when she heard Penelope gasp.

"Right! Prentiss doesn't know about her drinking phases. Spencer, go explain it!" Penelope eagerly ordered.

"I-I don't know. This feels kind of wro-"

"Do it!" Penelope interrupted.

"Fine. When [Name] starts drinking, she has these phases after every shot. After her first shot, she can't seem to stop laughing and will simply laugh at anything around her for no apparent reason. On her second shot, she is wandering the place. She can't stay still. On her third shot, she's dancing-"

"We once found her dancing with this elderly woman who was busting it down on the dance floor." Morgan laughed. "She even pulled Spencer out on the dance floor when we went to the club."

Spencer blushed at the reminder before continuing, "On her fourth shot, she's crying. She gets really emotional and it doesn't seem like anybody can stop her from crying unless you give her another shot and by her fifth shot, she's back to dancing."

"Which leads us back to our hypothesis." JJ explained, "What happens to our dear little agent once she has her sixth shot."

"And this is the perfect time to test it out." Penelope explained.

The BAU house party at Rossi's was nice in your opinion. He made his delicious Italian dishes and brought out the alcohol. Morgan and Penelope were sweet enough to bring their own alcohol too and offered you a lot. If only you could've seen the evil smirks of those who handed you each shot.

Spencer watched from afar as you were being handed shots and happily accepting them. He planned on staying to the sides and watching over you, making sure you didn't get hurt, but that soon changed when Morgan offered him a shot in the shape or a chemical tube and he couldn't resist the creative packaging.

You were now on your third shot. Spencer knew this due to your little robot dance by the beat-box with JJ who matched your energy. It was a funny sight to see; however, that smile quickly dropped when you made eye contact with him and walked towards him with a mischievous smile. You stopped about two meters away from him and imitated the moves of a fisher casting his line. He rolled his eyes at your attempt to make him do the stupid dance move. The goofy smile on your face as you starting to roll the fishing line towards him, and your encouraging nod made it difficult to resist you.

He wanted to say he didn't succumb to your odd ways but he did as he jumped your way. Yes, he knows he looked stupid but all he could focus on was your proud smile as soon as he reached you.

He had wished that moment lasted a little longer but Morgan came around with another round of shots and happily gave it to you. Spencer said that he wasn't interested and tried to get you to do the same but you didn't, instead it backfired on him.

"Oooo, more for me then. Double!" You grabbed both shots.

"I don't think that's a good i-" You already downed them before Spencer could finish those words and you felt a bit dizzy from the disgusting taste it left in your mouth. This would technically be considered your fifth shot but you've never taken a double before and Spencer supposed it would have the same effect as if taken separately, but your reaction proved otherwise.

You should be back on the dancefloor once the alcohol set it, but Spencer brought you to on of Rossi's kitchen island stools to sit down. He spotted Derek, Penelope, JJ and Emily both staring at them with hawk eyes, knowing they are one shot away from finding out what happens on her sixth shot. Spencer shook his head at their antics and looked back at you to find... that you were nowhere to be seen.

There you stood with Rossi, trying to imitated a traditional dance he was teaching. Italian music played in the background as Rossi showed you how he dances. You were smiley and asked if you did it right and he nodded and encouraged the others to join. Oh wow, you were a stealthy little handful. Spencer sighed in relief as he saw you felt a little better.

Spencer Reid had many degrees and phds but none of them could really tell him the phenomenon behind your drunk phases. It worried him what would happen next. Sure your first five stages were nothing terrible, it was all in good fun except for your emotional crying stage. However, what if you have your sixth shot and it pushes you over the limit and you end up throwing up or passing out. He wasn't sure if he wanted to find out, especially since you never had any more shots after your fifth since you were so tired of dancing and talking that you declined any more.

All the other times you and him have gone out drinking, you normally ended up in a secluded area in the bar and drank some water or ordered some bar food and waited to sober up a little bit. Spencer never tried offering you another drink but Derek has and youd always decline. Sure, he too was curious, but if you had a reason to abstain then you had a reason and he didn't want to push it.

You had always known what would happen after your fifth shot. It was not cute. Well, to you it wasn't, but to the group of friends you hung out with as soon as you turned 21, it was. Drinking more than five shots was not in your best interest, especially being at a party with your colleagues and boss. It didn't matter how drunk they were, you didn't want to risk it because you knew how you'd get.

Despite being five shots in, you still had some sense of sobriety and knew how to decline drinks. But that double took its tow on you, and who could decline another shot being offered by the cute little Penelope. As you sat on the couch, exhausted from dancing with Rossi, you simply watched the moving pictures on the television with a slightly entertained smile. Hotch was on the singular person holding couch while you took the bigger one. He eyed you weirdly as you chuckled at the screen static.

That was when Penelope sat down with a shot glass you couldn't resist. She told you she bought edible glitter and ordered a special shot glass with a Persian cat printed on it. You gasped at the sight as Penelope gave you such a nice gift.

"You're a sweetheart Penelope. Thank you!" You genuinely said, warmed at her kindness. She told you it was no problem at all and told you she'll be over with Derek if she needed anything. You nodded and admired the pretty shot glass before taking it and setting it down with a content smile.

"Mission accomolished." Penelope smiled as she high-fived Derek and JJ while Emily stood beside them, watching. Spencer shook his head from beside Penelope.

"What's wrong pretty boy?" Morgan asked.

"I'm going to give her some water. She might throw up or something."

"Relax, she's only on her sixth shot. Alcohol posoining from vodka takes like what, 13-16." Morgan stated.

"That only applies to males over 160 pounds which she is neither. With her height and estimated weight, she's about two shots from trouble and we don't know how she'll react." Spencer stated and grabbed a closed water bottle before walking it over to you.

JJ leaned closer to the three, "Do you think Spencer can see how much he cares for her?"

"Pretty boy has had his eyes set on her since the moment she walked in." Morgan chuckled. "It's only about time."

Derek stared at Penelope who had an evil smirk.

"What's going on?" Emily asked, very confused. It seems like she missed something.

"You'll see." JJ smiled and gestured back over to the couch.

Penelope was like a bubble. She floated around person to person and everybody loved how innocent and non-deceiving she seemed, but she likes to have her fun too. People often confided in her and that's how she learns many of the agents' secret. Secrets they don't think is anything worthwhile, but to Penelope, she just hit the jackpot. You see, Penelope has always known what happens when you little miss princess drinks her sixth shot. She always has ever since she walked you home one day from a night of drinking and you confessed that you didn't want to drink anymore because of one thing...

You get embarrassingly clingy.

"Hey. I got you some water." Spencer sat down right beside you and opened the water bottle, handing it to you.

You took your eyes off the screen and melted into a smile as you saw him in arm's distance. "Doctor Spencer!" You opened your arms and gently wrapped them around his neck, lifting just slightly from the couch to match the height.

"W-What?" He stuttered as he made sure the water didn't spill on you. His arms were flared out, not wanting to touch you while you were in an intoxicated state. He could smell the perfume you sprayed on your hair and neck hours ago and the fragrant filled his brain. You pulled away with the same dopey smile and held eye contact with him.

Your body was fully turned towards him; your leg closest to him was bent and placed on the couch so you could fully face him. Your hand rested on his knee, "I feel like you've been gone forever."

You repositioned yourself and scooted closer to Spencer who was now stuck between you and the couch arm. He had already closed the water bottle at this point and dropped it on the carpeted floor. You ignored the small thud and wrapped your arms around his and rested your head on his arm. He felt you melt into his arm and simply relax in his presence.

He was frozen. He couldn't move. It was as if he stared into Medusa's eyes and became a stone statue. He couldn't even move his eyes to see the reactions of the ones that organized it.

"This feels nice." You dreamily sighed and Spencer could feel the blood rushing to his cheeks. He kept his hands to his sides, avoiding touching you.

"I-I should go." He managed to utter out, but he couldnt escape your grip.

"Why? Do you hate me?" You asked, looking up at him with a small frown and furrowed eyebrows.

"N-No! Of course not." He eeped in a high pitch voice as he felt you intertwine your hand with his.

"Then don't go. Don't leave me." You smiled as you felt him settle back in his seat.

Spencer frantically looked at somebody for help but found everybody paying no attention and giving them their space. Hotch was on call with his wife and brushdd off his eyes that screamed S.O.S and those who set this up were innocently eating dessert in the kitchen. It didn't take a genius profiler to know that he, Spencer Reid, had been played. So Spencer accepted his fate.

It wasn't a bad fate to accept. He looked at the woman on his arm and felt himself sink into the cushions of the couch. This wasn't too bad. He looked down at you as soon as you looked up at him. You smiled and he reciprocated it.

"Hug me." You ordered. It was a soft order. A small command that barely escaped your lips. Who was he to deny a small action that would've made you smile even more.

He carefully moved his hand that you held onto and brought it around your shoulder. You wasted no time to connect your hands back together and mindlessly played with his fingers.

You weren't sure how you got back home. You were on your bed, still in the clothes you wore the night before but in a cardigan you remember all too well. As the memories of last night slowly re-entered your mind, you didn't what any normal person would've done and screamed in horror.

Penelope, who was sleeping on the other side of the bed, immediately shot up in fear. "What happened?!"

"My life is over." You cried out, dramatically falling into your pillow and hiding your face with your hands before you came to a realization. "You planned that didn't you? I should've known something was up when you decorated that last shot so beautifully that I had no choice but to drink it and reveal the most embarassing part of my drunk stage."

"I'm sorry honey but at least you were the little cutey you always are." Penelope said, thankful that you werent getting murdered and was just embarassed.

"What happened after that last shot?" You were scared to hear the answer and Penelope's answer reinforced that notion. With each action she listed, you felt yourself getting ready to jump out the window from the third story of your apartment building. "I can never face Spencer again. I need to change my identity and- and - and leave."

Apparently after your little stunt on the couch, you refused to let go of Spencer, even when it wss time to go. You only let go of him when you saw Penelope. You threw your arms around her and gave her a hug as well, then went down the line. Penelope got ready to walk you home since you planned in a sleepover afterwards, but apparently, you threw yourself back on Spencer when he tried leaving too soon. You don't even want to try and remember what happened after that.

A whole mess. A whole mess that you created with the terrible influence of Penelope and those she employed in her little act. A mess that you would need to face and deal with. Oh the stress.

You buried your head in your pillow and tried to forget reality. This was a nightmare.

[cxrrodedcoffin]

Oh Make Me Over - Emily Prentiss

Likes are always appreciated but reblogs and feedback keep artists going!

Summary: Reader and Emily agreeing to do each other’s makeup devolves into lewd activities.

Word Count: 1.5k

A/N: saw a tiktok that made me so insanely feral so here we are.

TW: dom!emily, lap sitting, cockwarming + penetration (w/ a strap), slight fingering, degradation kink, slight praise, playful thigh slapping, fem + afab reader

Rating: R (mostly smut again, oops)

——

“Emily, will you do my makeup?” You approached her from behind, wrapping your arms around her waist.

“Only if you’ll do mine.” She replied, setting the hot tool in her hand on the counter. She looked at you through the mirror, admiring the way your chin sat so perfectly on her shoulder.

“Let me finish my hair and we can start, go get everything together and I’ll be right in.” She smiled, turning to kiss your cheek.

You padded out of the bathroom, collecting both of your makeup bags and setting them on the nightstand while you relaxed on the bed. You pulled out the book you were reading, scanning through a chapter until Emily walked in.

“You first babe, I have an idea for mine.” She hinted, peaking your curiosity. She joined you on the bed, grabbing your makeup bag and moving to straddle your lap. She laid out the contents of the bag on the bed next to you, asking you to hold certain things as she went to work making you over.

Having her on top of you made your body temperature rise, your heart rate increasing every time she bit her lip in concentration and held your chin to move your face whichever way she needed you to face.

“Look down.” She commanded, ready to apply the smokey eye you had requested for your first proper date night in months. Your gaze dropped, giving you an eyeful of her ample cleavage in the low-cut top she had chosen. Something told you she was doing this on purpose but you weren’t complaining. The next thing you knew she was gripping your chin, holding you firmly in place.

“I’m doing your eyeliner, don’t move.” She was a little extra firm this time and you could tell she was in one of her dominant moods today. That thought had you clenching your thighs together, wondering what she would do to you when you got home from your date.

“Lashes?” She asked, holding up your favorite pair of falsies. You nodded, wanting to look extra pretty for her. She applied the lashes, blowing softly against your eyelids to help the glue completely dry. The new sensation sent a shiver down your spine, and you almost whined when she leaned away from you to grab a mirror.

“Thoughts?” She watched your expression, loving the way your eyes lit up when you took the look in.

“You always make me look so pretty.” You praised her handiwork.

“You’re always gorgeous.” She sighed, a little disappointed in your backdoor self-depreciation but always loving to hear that she’s made you happy. You blushed, still not fully sure how to feel comfortable receiving compliments, even from your girlfriend of 2 years.

“So what is your idea for yours?” The curiosity was driving you wild, Emily always has the best ideas.

She got off the bed, going over to the dresser and opening the drawer the two of you kept your toys in. You watched her carefully, trying to see what she was grabbing until she turned around, strap in hand. You gulped, cheeks flushing.

“We have to leave soon or we’ll miss our reservation, I don’t think we have time to do your makeup and do that.” You reminded her, trying to remain rational.

“Not if we do both at the same time.” She smirked, stepping into the harness and tightening it around her hips. You remained silent, still a bit confused until she climbed on the bed, settling with her back against the headboard, strap resting erect in her lap.

“Come here.” She beckoned you toward her, her hands resting on your hips as you hovered only inches from the toy between you.

“Have you ever heard of cockwarming?” This line of questioning was not what you were expecting when you imagined your first date night in months. You shook your head, the name giving you an idea but not 100% sure on the definition.

“I want you to sit on my lap with this inside you and do my makeup. You can do whatever you want on it, as long as you stay focused and get my makeup done in time to make our reservation.” Her eyes sparkled and even though you were a little unsure, the ache between your thighs was growing by the second and the concept of getting some relief was more than enough to convince you.

“Okay, I think I can do that.” You finally answer after a moment, reaching for her makeup bag and splaying the contents on the bed like Emily had done with yours. When you were ready you draped your hand over her shoulder, lifting your hips and holding your skirt up so you should position yourself above the fake cock. You reached down, pumping your fingers into your entrance to double check that your desperation had aroused you enough to safely sink onto it before positioning the head in place of your fingers, the stretch drawing a gasp of air from your lungs. You sank down completely, pausing for a moment to adjust to the feeling before reaching for Emily’s primer, ready to start your task.

You got to work, applying her base products as you slowly swiveled your hips, allowing yourself just enough stimulation to keep you satisfied but still focused on what you were doing. An issue began to arise when you reached for her eyeshadow palette, ready to start getting into the more tedious details. The slight friction wasn’t enough anymore, the carnal desire inside of you beginning to overwhelm.

You started bouncing your hips, starting out slower as you laid down a transition shade on Emily’s eyelids, pausing briefly to grab a different brush to put the dark shade of brown on her outer corners. You tried your best to blend the two shades seamlessly, but your hips seemed to have a mind of their own as you continued to increase your pace. You were chasing a slowly approaching orgasm and your focus was quickly slipping, pausing your work a little too long for Emily’s taste.

“Stop.” She commanded, her hands gripping your hips to pull you down to a stop.

“If you don’t focus we’re going to miss our reservation, is that what you want?” She chided, holding you still.

“No, I’m sorry.” You mumbled, grabbing a new brush to add the final eyeshadow shade. You held her still this time, your free hand gripping her chin as you did her eyeliner. When you grabbed her mascara, instructing her to blink as you applied the dark coating to her lashes, she let go of your hips, silently telling you to start moving again.

You reached for her setting spray, bouncing your hips once again as you shook the bottle, finally spraying the last step over her face. She took the mirror, inspecting your work as you continued attempting to get yourself off.

“You did a pretty good job for a selfish brat.” You didn’t want to admit it but hearing her demean you like that had you chasing your orgasm even harder, too turned on to question why. You were too lost in pleasure to realize that Emily had packed up her makeup, clearing the bed to make space for her to flip you onto your back, driving her hips into you as hard as she could.

“You want to cum, slut? You better hurry up, we only have a few minutes.” She taunted, her thumb finding your clit as you cried out underneath her, each thrust of her hips into your aching cunt rubbing perfectly against that soft spot inside you.

“Do you like when I make you fuck yourself for my entertainment?” You barely registered her question as you felt yourself teetering on the edge, so close to release.

“Answer me.” She demanded, slapping your thigh.

“Yes!” You cried out, euphoria washing over you as your orgasm finally hit, back arching and hands clutching at the sheets beneath you. As you came down Emily pulled out of you, planting kisses across your collarbone.

“Are you okay, love?” She asked, slight concern in her voice.

“More than okay.” You panted, still catching your breath.

“We really do need to leave in a couple minutes, what panties do you want?” She looked to you, opening your underwear drawer.

“Pink flowers.” The words had barely left your lips when she was already at your feet with the pair, helping pull them up your legs.

“I love you.” You smiled down at her, loving the dynamic the two of you share.

“I love you too babydoll.” She replied, taking your hand to help you to your feet to finally leave for your date.

——

Tag List: DM me or send me an ask if you’d like to be added to my general or Emily Prentiss taglist :)

[pathologicalreid]

buried alive | S.R.

in which the BAU races against the clock to rescue you from a killer team

who? spencer reid x fem!BAU!reader

category: angsty

content warnings: kidnapping, case stuff (murder yk), suffocation, being buried alive, hospitals, blood, nausea, CPR, funerals, use of pet names, guns, and drugs. i think that's all.

word count: 2.9k

a/n: okay, so i've been reading so much spencer fanfic and i started writing it and yesterday i realized i have 20 fics written and they're doing no one any good just sitting on my computer. i decided to finally try posting one. i wrote fanfic in high school (so like seven years ago) but this is my first time writing for a TV show. i've also never really posted on tumblr so please bear with me while i try to figure out formatting. tysm for checking out my post.

part two part three

You walked into the conference room and dropped the file on the table, allowing it to land on the wood with a satisfying splat. “The unsub’s burying them alive,” you said, letting the rest of the team know the conclusion you had come to with the medical examiner. “The M.E. found metal shavings and satin threads under the nails of our last victim. The most common materials to make up a casket.”

“There’s no way someone could bury someone alive in a casket alone, we’ve got to be dealing with a team, at least three people,” Emily concluded, standing in front of the evidence board.

It was the team’s third day on a case in Nebraska, four women had been discovered dead. Asphyxiation by hypoxia. Carbon dioxide poisoning.

“Approximately 420 people in the United States die from accidental carbon dioxide poisoning every year,” Spencer said, grabbing the file off of the table and flipping through it, taking a few seconds to read through it.

Rossi looked over Reid’s shoulder to look at the file, “but there’s nothing accidental about these deaths. Who would have access to these caskets?”

You shook your head, placing a hand on the back of Spencer’s chair, “A funeral director seems most likely.” You looked around at the Omaha field office, different agents running about in an attempt to solve these very murders. “They’d have the most access, write it off as displays. It could be hard to match the materials since they’re so common.”

Hotch leaned over the table and pressed the conference phone, “What can I do you for?” Garcia’s bright voice rang through the speaker.

“Garcia, I need you to look into funeral homes within the comfort zone. Look for a director who’s ordered more caskets than they’ve had funerals. Find anything, nothing is too small.” He told her.

“Absolutely, I’ll hit you back when I’ve got something,” she said, hanging up the phone.

There ended up being four funeral homes in the unsub’s comfort zone, so the team split up. You went with two locals to a family-owned business, Garcia had sent you all of the files you’d need on the location. “It looks like the Varn family has been in the funeral business since the seventeenth century,” you read aloud to the two agents you were in the car with.

“Does it mean they’re more or less likely to be the killers if they’ve been in business for so long?” One of the agents asked you, a younger man named Harrison.

You pursed your lips as you continued to look over the files, “I’m not seeing any glaringly obvious stressors before the murders started, but over the years I’ve learned that’s no reason to write someone off. Psychopaths can be tipped off by the slightest thing. Things none of us would bat an eye at.”

Harrison nodded in the passenger seat, looking over to his partner Jimmy, “You and your guy sure do make an interesting pair.”

“I’m going to take that as a compliment, so thank you.” You and Spencer never explicitly stated to the field office that you were dating, but you walked into the precinct this morning holding hands. The agents must have drawn their own conclusions.

The younger officer cleared his throat, “It is a compliment, ma’am. The two of you are very impressive, your whole team is.”

You smiled, “Thank you, Harrison.”

The funeral home was run by a mother and her two sons, you held up your credentials for the mother when you knocked on the door. “Are you Sheila Varn?” You asked her, raising your eyebrows.

“Yes, what’s this about?” She inquired. She didn’t really look the part of a serial killer, a middle-aged woman who was running her family business.

Pocketing your credentials, you spoke, “We’re investigating the recent murders in the area and we were wondering if you had samples of the materials your caskets are made out of. Might we be able to come in?” You asked, adding a charming smile for effect.

Something flashed across her face before she returned your smile, opening the door and welcoming the three of you inside. “Hold on, let me get my boys up here. They’re so much more versed in the goings on of the town than I am,” she said, opening the door and calling for her sons. Felix and Joss came up the stairs from the basement, now they definitely had the physique to load dead women into caskets and bury them alive.

“Why don’t you two men come with me? I’ll get you those samples,” Sheila said, motioning for the agents you were with to follow her. To your horror, they followed her around the corner. “Felix, Joss, show this young lady what you know,” she instructed.

You took a deep breath before you looked up at the two men.

They were tall, maybe Spencer’s height, but they were built like wrestlers. There was no way you could physically subdue them on your own.

You passed out before you even had the chance to pull your gun.

Hotch was in full Unit Chief mode, Spencer watched from the corner of the room as he separated people into groups and gave them specific instructions. JJ and Morgan walked into the precinct, “What’s going on?” JJ asked looking around the room.

“The Varn Family is the team; two agents were found drugged on the side of the road and when we went to the funeral home Y/N was missing. Her badge, gun, and phone were all there, covered in blood,” Spencer said morosely, watching as Hotch finished giving orders and called the rest of the team over.

Your picture was up on the evidence board with the word “missing” written in bold letters beneath it. All of your belongings had been put into evidence for the time being. “Reid?” Hotch said his name, causing his head to snap up. “Are you okay to keep working?”

Spencer nodded affirmatively, “Yes.”

“Good, I need you to estimate how much time we have, I want a clock on these screens,” he ordered.

Morgan turned to Reid, “What do you think she has, kid?”

“The tidal volume for the average adult is point five at rest. That ends up being about six liters per minute. The average casket is approximately 886 liters in total volume and the average volume of the human body is 66 liters, leaving 820 liters to be filled with air for her to breathe. If she’s been gone for half an hour already, I’d estimate she has less than five hours of breathable air left.” Spencer explained, doing all of the math in his head while Emily put a timer on the screen next to the evidence board.

After a moment, Hotch continued, “Rossi, JJ, go back to the funeral home. Tear it apart, there has to be something there we haven’t found yet. The rest of us will split the list of cemeteries in the comfort zone and search them.”

“That’s a lot of ground to cover, we don’t have anything else to go on?” Morgan asked, looking at the list of burial sites he had been handed.

Hotch looked at Spencer, but Spencer stayed silent. “That’s all we have right now,” Hotch responded, “hopefully we’ll come across leads as we go.”

It smelled like a garden around you. The memory reminded you of spring with your mother, tending to the vegetable garden.

The only difference was that instead of the sun beaming down on you, it was pitch black. The space surrounding you was so dark that you weren’t totally sure your eyes were open.

Your head was throbbing just above your right temple, and you observed your surroundings. Slowly, you lifted your arm until it hit a ceiling.

Not a ceiling. A lid. You were in a casket. You pressed one hand to your chest and tried to slow your breathing. Chances were that the casket was already buried beneath the surface of the earth, trying to open it could be catastrophic. You patted the pockets of your jeans, only to find your phone missing, so the team wouldn’t be able to trace the location.

Even if you had it, there likely wouldn’t be service six feet under.

Your team would find you. They had to find you.

They found Spencer, they found Emily, and they would find you.

Spencer shifted in the passenger seat of the SUV, “You know, carbon dioxide poisoning is a rather peaceful way to die.”

“Reid,” Morgan said, turning the vehicle onto the main road, they had just finished scouring over another cemetery with still no sign of you.

He sighed and stared at his hands, “No, it’s good. We see so many people killed in so many different ways that it’s good that she won’t be in pain when she runs out of air.” He tried to convince himself.

Morgan cleared his throat, “We aren’t out of time yet, kid. We can still find her. Y/N’s smart, I’m sure she found a way to make more air or something.”

But they were running out of time, less than an hour remained on the timer set on all of their phones.

They pulled into the next cemetery, “There’s some fresh dirt over there, what are the names on the graves of people who were actually recently buried?”

Spencer starts to recite the names, and the two of them start to comb through the cemetery.

You had done enough research on this case to understand what was going on. The light-headed feeling had started not long ago, but now you felt like you were spinning, despite the knowledge that you were stuck in place.

It was a high. Not unlike the good kids high. Except instead of trying to chase a feeling, you were dying.

The timer went off when they were still scouring graves, shovels in hand. Derek stopped in his tracks, but Spencer kept going.

“Wait,” Spencer called out, reading the name on the card next to the fresh grave he was standing at, he moved to start digging. “Essie Dunbar was a thirty-year-old woman who was mistakenly buried alive in 1915,” he said, digging. “This has to be it.”

Derek called Hotch, putting the call on speakerphone so he could help Spencer dig. “Hotch, we got her, but she’s buried.”

“We’re on our way, Omaha police have one of the brothers in custody,” Hotch told Emily to have an ambulance dispatched.

What Reid knew that Derek didn’t was that it could take four hours to dig a grave by hand. The soil had been overturned, so maybe call it three. Your odds were still negligible. He didn’t stop, he didn’t stop when a caretaker came running at them, and he didn’t stop when Derek told him to get his digging equipment out here now.

Derek flashed his FBI badge to get what they needed. He had to physically pull Spencer back from the grave so the backhoe could dig, only going until there was less than a foot between them and the casket.

Spencer crudely attached a chain to the casket and the caretaker's vehicle. Carefully, the caretaker dragged the white container out of the earth and up a slant they had dug. It was locked shut, “Reid, move,” Derek ordered.

He leaned back and Derek fired at the lock, taking it off and opening the casket. Spencer gasped, there was blood on the side of your head, dried and raked through your hair. He was vaguely aware of Hotch and Emily arriving as they pulled you out of your satin prison. You had no pulse, but you were still warm. Immediately, Spencer started CPR.

“Reid let me do it,” Derek insisted.

What he was trying to say is that he shouldn’t have to be the one to try to save your life.

Morgan repeated himself and Spencer pulled away, allowing the other agent to immediately take over. There was a siren in the background, an ambulance. More people showed up, Spencer heard their voices, but he just kept watching you. CPR was effective if it was done shortly after your heart stopped, and even then, permanent brain damage was likely.

It had been eight minutes since they pulled you out of the ground. Clinically, you were dead for eight minutes before you gasped.

Spencer smoothed your hair back, away from your face, while you desperately tried to catch your breath. You weren’t moving, and Spencer started running through symptoms of hypoxia. His biggest fear was brain damage, that they had done more harm to you in bringing you back than they would have had you died.

The EMTs came running over to where everyone had gathered, dispersing the crowd, and placing an oxygen mask over your face. As they were loading you on the stretcher, you started trying to talk, reaching your arm out to your side. “Wait, what’s she saying?” JJ asked.

“Sometimes it’s hard to talk after CPR,” the male EMT said as they moved you closer to the ambulance. He listened to what you were saying, “It’s not coherent.”

Spencer didn’t move, all of the adrenaline that had been coursing through his body all day was leaving.

Aphasia. They were saying the lack of oxygen to your brain was causing aphasia. “No,” Emily said, realization dawning on her features as she strained to listen to you. You were whispering, rasping the same word over and over again. “She’s saying ‘Spence.’”

He stood quickly and looked at you, sure enough, you were reaching out your hand and whispering, “Spence, Spence.” Your voice no more than a whisper.

Grabbing your hand, Spencer squeezed it, “I’m here,” he answered. “It’s okay, it’s over,” he told you, moving your hair out of your face. Spencer secured your oxygen mask over your face as you tried to take it off, “You have to keep this on, angel.”

To his relief, you squeezed his hand back.

You had been instructed to get some rest, but you couldn’t close your eyes. You asked Spencer to go back to the hotel and change his clothes because he smelled like dirt, and it made you nauseous. Your head had been bandaged, you’d been run through an MRI, and you did an EEG, so far, the only brain damage that had been incurred seemed temporary.

According to the doctors, the nausea and fatigue should wear off, but they hadn’t been able to fully assess if any permanent damage was done. At this point, the worst of your injuries had been caused by being given CPR, resulting in cracked ribs.

Despite your headache, you kept most of the lights on in your hospital room, not quite ready to be left in the darkness again. “Hey,” a voice called from your doorway, Spencer stood, waiting to be invited in. He was wearing different clothes, a button-up with a green cardigan thrown over it, and clean pants. “How are you feeling?”

A nasal cannula slightly restricted your movement, but you were sat up in the hospital bed, “Better than I was, but not perfect.”

He shook his head, walking in and taking a seat next to you, “No one expects you to be perfect right now.” Gently, he reached out and took your hand, skimming the pad of his thumb over your knuckles. “They found the mother and the other son, and all three of them are going to go away for a long time,” he told you, speaking in the kind of hushed, reverent tones that are reserved for hospitals.

You sighed and tilted your head back, “Good,” you maundered. “That’s uh, good,” your voice was barely audible.

“So why do you look so worried?” He asked, leaning in closer to you.

In an attempt to dismiss his concern, you joked, “I think I owe Morgan some sort of life debt now.”

Spencer offered you a soft smile, “The two of you tend to trade those off, I’m sure you’ll find some way to make it up to him.” He inclined his head towards you as if to silently say, So what is it really?

You swallowed thickly, “I’m scared to close my eyes, Spence.”

His shoulders dropped, “oh, Angel,” he breathed. “Is there anything I can do for you?” He asked, looping a loose strand of your hair behind your ear. “Wait, what are you doing?” He asked, watching you as you lifted yourself, so you were on one side of the bed.

Shyly, you patted the new empty half of the bed, inviting him to sit next to you.

He had no choice but to comply, he had the hardest time saying no to you. Leaning the bed back slightly, Spencer kicked off his shoes before he laid down next to you, wrapping an arm around you as you set your cheek on his shoulder.

Your body relaxed into his and you sighed, “Spence?” You murmured.

He pressed a gentle kiss to the crown of your head, “Yes, angel?” He whispered back to you.

“Thanks for coming to save me,” you mumbled, slowly relaxing enough to fall asleep.

Spencer exhaled, “I’m always going to come to save you.”

part two

[1bisschenmelancholie]

Sin to Win

⋆˚࿔ emily prentiss x female reader

you run into emily prentiss in atlantic city. she looks like sin and drinks like she invented the word “trouble.” as you follow her to her suite she pins you to the wall, kisses you breathless, ruins you slowly. she tells you to be good. you are. she wins.

⋆˚࿔ disclaimers: mature content, dominant behaviour

You were two drinks past good decisions when you saw her.

Atlantic City had a way of dulling your instincts—flashing lights, too much noise, skin and silk and lies all poured into one long blur of weekend chaos. But nothing, nothing, dulled the shock of seeing Emily Prentiss slouched in a private booth in a bar off the boardwalk, legs crossed, whiskey in hand, and hair loose around her shoulders like she hadn't even tried to look this good.

You blinked.

She looked up.

You froze.

And then she smiled—slow, sharp, and dangerous.

"Well," she said, tipping her glass slightly, "look what sin dragged in."

You should've turned around. You should've laughed, waved, said something coy and walked off.

Instead, you slid into the booth across from her like your body had already decided what your brain was too overwhelmed to process.

"You're not here for a case," you said.

Emily's eyebrow arched. "What gave it away?"

"You're not armed."

Her grin widened. "Wanna check?"

You looked her up and down. Black top under that suit, hair longer than the last time you saw her, silver threaded through it like something earned. Her lipstick was subtle. Her smirk wasn't.

"Jesus, Prentiss."

"You've been drinking," she said, ignoring the compliment.

You sipped your own cocktail like it could hide your pulse. "Not enough to make you up."

She leaned in a little, resting her elbow on the table. "So what brings you to Atlantic City?"

"Sin," you said. "And the need to win."

Her laugh was low and real. "What are you winning at?"

You looked her in the eye. "Hopefully, this conversation."

Emily tilted her glass toward you. "Bold."

"I learned from the best."

That made her pause.

The music pulsed around you, slow and sticky, some bass-heavy remix that didn't match the elegance of her wrist wrapped around the glass. You stared too long. She noticed.

"You're staring."

"You're letting me."

She smiled behind the rim of her drink. "You always had a mouth on you."

"And you always liked it."

A beat.

Emily set her glass down.

"Come with me."

You blinked. "Excuse me?"

She slid out of the booth and straightened to full height, jacket clinging to her like it had memorized her silhouette. "You heard me."

"Where?"

Emily smirked. "Atlantic City isn't the kind of place where you ask that."

You hesitated for half a breath.

Then followed her.

Of course you did.

⸻

The elevator ride up to her suite was quiet. You both knew better than to fill it with words that didn't matter. There was electricity in the silence—boardwalk heat clinging to your skin, to your throat, to the tension building in the air like static.

When the doors opened, you were the first to move.

She unlocked the room with a swipe and stepped inside, tossing her jacket over a chair with deliberate ease. She walked like the room belonged to her. Maybe it did.

The lights were low, golden. The view behind her was floor-to-ceiling city chaos—neon and motion and everything you weren't looking at.

She poured another drink.

You leaned against the doorway.

"Don't you ever rest?"

Emily turned slowly, glass in hand. "You think this is me resting?"

"This looks like trouble."

Emily took a sip, then set the glass down. She stepped toward you, closing the space with calculated slowness. "This is trouble."

You opened your mouth to speak.

She didn't let you.

She stepped right into your space, slid a hand into your hair, and tilted your chin up—firm but smooth.

"Tell me something true," she said.

The air between you pulsed. Her voice wasn't loud, but it landed.

Your breath hitched, chest rising faster. Her hand stayed gentle at your neck, thumb tracing a slow line beneath your jaw. Her eyes held yours like a promise already made.

"I've wanted you for a long time," you said.

Emily's expression didn't shift. Not at first. But her lips parted—just barely—and something tensed in the way she held you.

"How long?" she murmured.

"Since D.C.," you whispered. "Since you looked at me like you weren't supposed to."

Her fingers flexed slightly at your throat.

Then she leaned in.

And kissed you.

You melted. Instantly.

Her mouth claimed yours, slow but certain, like she was done waiting. She kissed like she knew what she was doing to you—like every tilt of her head, every brush of her tongue, had been rehearsed in dreams you weren't invited to.

You gasped as she pressed you back against the wall—hot, solid, impatient.

Her hands were already moving. One gripped your hip tightly, the other buried in your hair, tugging until your head tilted just enough for her to deepen the kiss.

And God, she did.

You moaned, caught off guard by how thorough she was—licking into your mouth, biting your bottom lip, swallowing the noise you made with a low sound of her own.

"You're mine tonight," she breathed against your lips.

You nodded, dazed.

She didn't wait.

She spun you, walking you backwards into the hotel room. You bumped into a chair, a low table. Neither of you cared. She kissed you through it all—harder each time, more frantic, more possessive.

You tugged at her jacket.

She pulled back, panting slightly. "You want this off?"

You nodded again.

"Then say it."

You swallowed. "Take it off."

Emily grinned—dark, knowing—and slid out of the suede like a dare fulfilled. The black top underneath clung to her like a second skin. Her lipstick was smudged. Her hair wild.

She looked like sin itself.

"Your turn," she said.

You peeled off your shirt in one breathless movement.

She stepped in again, pressing you to the window now, hands flat on the glass on either side of your head.

"You have no idea how long I've imagined this," she murmured, trailing her mouth down your jaw to your collarbone. "You were always just out of reach."

"Not anymore," you whispered.

She paused.

Smiled.

"Exactly."

She kissed you again—and this time, you let go. You let her press into you, roll her hips against yours, slide a thigh between your legs. Your moan was involuntary.

"You're so fucking responsive," she muttered against your throat.

Then, suddenly—Emily stepped back.

You blinked, dazed. "What—?"

Her eyes dropped to your jeans.

"Take them off."

You hesitated, just half a beat.

"Now."

You obeyed.

And before your pants even hit the floor, she had her hands on your hips again, guiding you backward until the backs of your knees hit the bed.

"Lie down."

You did.

Emily stood over you for a moment—just looking. And then, she stripped. Not slowly. Not for show. Just a quiet, confident undoing. Her shirt hit the floor. Her bra followed. Her eyes never left you.

When she crawled over you, her mouth returned to yours—slower now, but no less hungry.

"You're not going to forget this," she whispered.

And then she kissed her way down your chest.

Lower.

Lower still.

She bit at the inside of your thigh, and your whole body jolted.

"God, you're sensitive."

She licked once—deliberate and slow.

You cried out.

"Good," she said.

And then she made you beg.

Her tongue dragged through you again, this time firmer, flatter — like she already knew what you needed.

And you did. God, you did.

You gasped her name, a cracked whisper of breath.

Emily smiled against your skin.

"Already?" she said, mock-gentle. "I've barely touched you."

You squirmed beneath her, hips twitching, legs trembling, but her hands pinned your thighs open like it was nothing.

Then she really started.

Long, languid strokes. Her mouth precise, her tongue relentless. She kept her eyes on you the whole time — dark and focused, watching the way your body arched, the way your fingers fisted the sheets, the way your breath broke apart with every roll of her tongue.

You moaned her name again — louder now.

She hummed.

That vibration—

You cried out.

But just when you started to tip over the edge, just when your legs began to quake—

She pulled back.

You almost sobbed.

"Why?" you whimpered, desperate and breathless.

Emily wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and crawled up your body, settling over you like a queen on her throne.

She smirked down at you. "Because I said so."

You couldn't even pretend to be mad.

Her hand slid between your legs again — fingers this time, slow and torturous, dipping into you just enough to make your thighs tremble.

"You're soaked," she murmured. "You'd let me do anything to you right now, wouldn't you?"

You nodded, breath hitching. "Anything."

Emily leaned in, kissed you slow and filthy, letting you taste yourself on her tongue.

"Then be good for me," she whispered.

And she wrecked you.

Two fingers, deep and steady. Her palm grinding into your clit with every thrust. Her mouth on your neck, your jaw, your lips. Her voice in your ear — low, quiet, coaxing.

"That's it."

"Just like that."

"Let go for me."

And you did.

You came with a cry that echoed off the walls, your back arching into her, hips bucking, thighs clamping around her hand — but she didn't stop. Not until you begged. Not until you couldn't breathe.

When she finally pulled her hand away, your body was spent, your chest rising in shallow waves.

Emily lay beside you, pulling you gently onto her chest. Her fingers traced lazy shapes on your back as your breathing slowly calmed.

Neither of you spoke for a while.

Then she kissed your temple and whispered, almost smugly,

"So. Sin to win, huh?"

You let out a breathless laugh. "You definitely won."

She chuckled, warm and quiet. "Good. Now get some sleep."

You blinked up at her. "What if I want to win tomorrow?"

Emily smirked. "Then try and top that."

And God help you, you were already planning to.

[eternlmoonshine]

morning light ☀︎︎ emily prentiss

summary: waking up next to emily is the safest, warmest feeling in the world. in the early morning light, with the world still quiet and slow, you allow yourself to simply exist in the moment, wrapped up in her presence. pairing: emily prentiss x reader warnings: pure teeth rotting fluff wc: 0.9k masterlist.

The world is soft when you wake up.

Not the world outside- not the city beyond Emily’s apartment walls, where car horns will soon blare, where people will rush to get to work, where the sun will rise higher and cast long shadows over everything it touches. That world is always moving, always demanding something. But here, in this room, in this bed, in the quiet cocoon of early morning, the world is soft.

And Emily is the softest thing in it.

Her breath is slow, steady, warming the air between you as she sleeps. Your bodies are tangled together, as they always are when you fall asleep next to her, like even in unconsciousness, neither of you wants to let go. One of her arms is draped over your waist, her fingers curled loosely around the fabric of your shirt. Her other hand is tucked under the pillow where your head rests, and you wonder if she can feel the way your hair brushes against her fingertips.

You don’t move, don’t shift, don’t even breathe too deeply. You don’t want to disturb this moment, don’t want to wake her. You want to stay here, suspended in this perfect stillness, where the warmth of her body keeps you anchored, where her presence is the only thing you need.

The room is dim, the first hints of dawn creeping in through the curtains. The light barely touches her face, just enough for you to see the way her dark lashes rest against her cheeks, the way her lips are slightly parted as she breathes. She looks peaceful like this, younger somehow, like all the burdens she carries have been set aside for the night. You know they’ll return when she wakes up- that the weight of the world will settle back onto her shoulders, that she’ll push herself too hard, that she’ll go out and fight battles no one else is strong enough to fight.

But not yet.

Right now, she’s just Emily. Just the woman you love, sleeping soundly beside you, safe and warm.

You let yourself drink her in. The curve of her jaw, the faint crease between her brows that never quite smooths out, even in sleep. The way her hair spills over the pillow, dark against the pale sheets. You could stay like this forever, just watching her, memorizing every detail.

You let your fingers brush over her arm where it rests against your waist, feather-light, barely a touch at all. Her skin is warm beneath your fingertips, impossibly soft. You trace gentle patterns against her forearm, circles and lines that don’t mean anything but still feel like love.

She stirs slightly, shifting closer, her grip on your shirt tightening for a moment before relaxing again. Her face nuzzles into the pillow, and a quiet sound escapes her lips- something between a sigh and a hum, content and sleepy.

A smile tugs at your lips. She’s always been a light sleeper, always on alert, but when she’s here with you, when she feels safe, she lets herself rest a little deeper.

You press the softest possible kiss to her forehead, barely more than a whisper of touch, just enough to let her know you’re here. She doesn’t wake, but her body responds- her arm tightening slightly around you, her legs shifting so they tangle even more with yours.

You think about all the mornings before this one. The ones where you had to wake up too soon, where alarms dragged you both from sleep and forced you back into the chaos of the world. The ones where Emily had to leave before the sun even rose, where kisses were hurried, where goodbyes were laced with exhaustion.

But not today.

Today, there are no alarms. No cases to rush off to, no flights to catch, no reason to leave this bed until you decide to. Today, you have time.

And you’re going to savor every second of it.

Your fingers move up to her hair, brushing a few strands away from her face. She shifts again, and this time, her eyes flutter open, just barely. They’re hazy with sleep, unfocused, the soft brown of them even warmer in the dim light.

A slow, sleepy smile spreads across her lips.

“Morning,” she murmurs, voice rough with sleep, the most beautiful sound you’ve ever heard.

“Morning,” you whisper back.

She blinks lazily, like it takes effort to keep her eyes open, but she keeps looking at you, like she doesn’t want to look away. Like maybe she wants to memorize you the way you’ve been memorizing her.

“How long have you been awake?” she asks, her voice still thick with sleep.

You shrug. “Not long.”

She hums, unconvinced. “Liar.”

A quiet laugh escapes you, and Emily smiles like she’s won something. Maybe she has.

She shifts closer- like she wasn’t already pressed against you, like there was any space left to close- and buries her face in the crook of your neck. Her breath is warm against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Too early,” she mutters, her words muffled against your shoulder.

You chuckle, wrapping your arms around her, pulling her in even closer. “We don’t have to get up yet.”

“Good,” she says, already sinking back into sleep, already trusting you to hold her.

And you do. You hold her like she’s the most precious thing in the world- because she is. You hold her like you’ll never let go.

The world outside will wake up soon. The city will start moving, alarms will go off in other apartments, people will start their day. But for now, here in this quiet, warm space, there is only the steady rhythm of Emily’s breathing, the weight of her body against yours, the slow, steady beat of her heart.

And you don’t need anything else.

[wisteriasymphony]

Wouldn't it be fucked up to visit a wax museum and look your younger self in the eyes.

Wouldn't it be fucked up to know that the 'you' people find worth preserving is a 'you' you can never go back to, maybe never were to begin with. That the 'you' that the people find worth preserving is one so fundamentally without personhood, without agency.

Wouldn't it be fucked up if the way people immortalized you was as an accessory to your mother, 'your' wax seamlessly pushed against her wax as the wax mother holds 'you' so fondly, yet so distantly, 'you' looking at her but not her to you. Your name isn't even on the placard at her feet, just hers. Wouldn't it be fucked up if this is the first time you had seen your mother in four years, and here she is, reminding you that you'll never escape her?

[cabotinheels]

— JEALOUS HEAT — e.prentiss x g!p female reader

PREMISE: She wanted your attention—so she let someone else flirt with her. Smiled too wide. Laughed too loud. She knew exactly what she was doing. Now she’s face-down on the couch, dress bunched at her waist, your cock buried deep as you fuck the jealousy out of your system—and the smugness out of her voice.

WARNINGS: dom!reader | g!p reader| jealous possessive smut | rough sex | spanking | face-down ass-up | creampie | pussy worship (but angry) | filthy dirty talk | mutual orgasm | soft post-sex care | reader goes feral then gentle | possessive | angst buried under lust | mild guilt, full tenderness |

WORD COUNT: 2.2K

𓏲𝄢 find my masterlists

You barely made it through the evening without snapping. Watching her lean in a little too close to that woman at the bar, flashing that slow, knowing smile like it wasn’t meant to gut you. She laughed like she didn’t know you were standing just feet away, clenching your jaw, holding back the heat crawling under your skin. And every time you caught her eye, she just raised an eyebrow and smirked—like she was daring you to do something about it. Like she wanted you jealous.

By the time you get home, you’re a fucking storm inside. The silence in your apartment is heavy, but not peaceful. Tense. You drop your jacket on the floor instead of hanging it up, pacing once like you need to burn off the rage rolling under your skin. Emily leans against the kitchen counter, still smug, still silent, watching you with that unreadable expression.

“She was just being nice,” she says eventually, unbothered, peeling her coat off slow, deliberate, as if she doesn’t feel the heat radiating off you. “You don’t have to be jealous.”

You scoff. “I’m not jealous,” you lie. Your voice is lower now, sharp. “I’m fucking pissed.”

“Oh?” she quirks an eyebrow, playing innocent, unzipping her boots like she’s not baiting you. “Because someone else gave me attention?”

Your glare could cut glass. “Because you let her. You liked it. You wanted me to see it.”

That does something to her—makes her eyes darken just slightly, lips curling. She steps toward you, slow and confident. “Maybe I did.”

That’s it. You grab her wrist and pull her in close, your mouth right at her ear. “Then prove it. Show me who you really want.”

You sink into the couch, legs spread, cock already half-hard under your jeans, your whole body thrumming with restrained anger. Emily doesn’t say a word—she just moves. Walks toward you like she owns the fucking room, dragging her fingers slowly up her thighs as she hikes her dress higher and higher, until—

No panties.

Your jaw clenches hard, and she smiles when she sees your reaction. She steps between your legs, the hem of her dress barely covering anything now, her slick pussy on full display just for you. Shiny, swollen, so fucking wet. You can smell her arousal from where you’re sitting. The smugness is still there, but it’s laced with something hungrier now—something needier.

“You mad?” she whispers as she straddles your lap, grinding her bare heat over the bulge in your pants. “You want to fuck the attitude out of me?”

You growl and yank your zipper down, pulling out your cock—thick, veined, already leaking at the tip. She lets out this breathy little moan as you stroke it once, twice, guiding it right under her. Her pussy is dripping, folds glistening as she lowers herself down onto you without hesitation. Just pure, slick, hot need.

You sink into her slowly at first, stretching her wide, and her head falls back with a moan. She’s so fucking tight, so wet it’s almost obscene, her pussy clenching greedily around you, like it missed this as much as you did. As much as she pretended she didn’t need it.

She starts to ride you, rolling her hips like she wants to make a fucking show out of it—like she knows exactly what she’s doing to you. Her hands brace on your shoulders as she bounces, and your hands shoot up to grab her ass, squeezing hard, forcing her to move faster, deeper. Her tits are right in your face, bouncing with every thrust, and you don’t even ask—you just latch onto one nipple with your mouth and suck, hard, teeth scraping just enough to make her gasp. Your tongue circles, greedy, rough, before switching to the other. She cries out your name, grinding down harder, faster, soaking your cock with every slap of skin on skin.

“Yeah?” you growl against her chest, one hand fisting in her hair. “That what you wanted, baby? Make me jealous so I’d fuck you like this? So you could cum on my cock like a needy little slut?”

She nods frantically, moaning, words slurred and gasped. “Yes, fuck—yes, just like that, don’t stop—”

You feel her tighten, her pussy clenching hard around you as she cums, grinding down with a desperate cry. Her whole body shudders, legs trembling around your waist, arms clutching your shoulders like she’ll fall apart if you stop touching her. But you’re not done.

Not even close.

You grip her hips and flip her, face-down into the cushions before she can catch her breath. Her dress is bunched at her waist, ass high in the air, and you grab two full handfuls of it before yanking her hips back into you.

“Mine,” you growl, lining your cock up again. “You wanna act like a cocktease in public? Fine. But this pussy?” You slam back into her in one brutal thrust. “Mine.”

Emily cries out, her cheek pressed to the pillow, hands clawing at the couch. You pound into her from behind, deep and rough, hands gripping her waist hard enough to leave bruises. Her ass bounces with every thrust, slick squelches filling the room, and your cock drives so deep she arches her back just to take it better.

“You ever let anyone else look at you like that again,” you hiss, grabbing a fistful of her hair and yanking her head back, “I’ll fuck you so hard you won’t be able to walk the next day.”

All she can do is moan—wrecked and breathless, her pussy fluttering around you like she’s already close again. And god, the way she clenches—tight and hot and wet like a fucking vice—it’s everything. Your jealousy’s still boiling, not dulled at all. It just makes you rougher, meaner, your thrusts unforgiving as you claim her over and over again.

“Say it,” you growl, voice ragged as you grip her ass and thrust deep. “Say who this pussy belongs to.”

“You!” she cries, voice muffled by the cushions. “It’s yours, fuck—yours!”

You fuck her harder.

You don’t slow down when she cums again.

You feel it—the way her whole body tenses under you, how her pussy clamps down so hard it nearly pushes your cock out. She whines into the cushions, tries to jerk forward, but you grab her hips and slam her right back onto you.

“No,” you growl, panting into her ear as you press your chest to her back, grinding your hips in circles deep inside her soaked cunt. “You don’t fucking run from it. You take all of it. You asked for this.”

She’s crying out, voice high and fucked out, hips shaking from the aftershocks. Her second orgasm tears through her so fast, so violently, her legs nearly give out—but you don’t let her go. You fuck her through it, pounding into her pussy like it’s yours—because it is.

“Too much,” she gasps, face half-buried in the cushion.

You grab her by the hair, yank her head back, and spit in her ear.

“You wanted too much when you let her flirt with you,” you snarl. “You wanted to be shown who owns this pussy? Then fucking take it, Emily.”

You reach around and slap her clit hard, making her cry out, her whole body jolting like it’s electric.

“I feel you squeezing me,” you hiss. “You’re gonna cum again, aren’t you?”

She nods frantically, drooling into the pillow, hands clawing at the cushions like she’s trying to hold on for dear life.

“Not yet,” you snap. “Don’t you fucking dare. You don’t get to cum again until I say so.”

You spank her ass—hard. The smack echoes, and the skin turns bright red under your hand. Then again. And again. You watch her arch into it, pussy twitching, dripping all over your cock and thighs, leaving a slick mess with every thrust.

“Look at you,” you taunt, voice low and rough. “You ride one stranger’s attention for a night and now you’re my fucking cum-dumb whore. My toy. My sweet little reminder that no one else gets to have you.”

You bite down on her shoulder, hard enough to bruise, and she moans for it—head thrown back, fucked-out eyes rolling.

“You like that, huh?” you sneer, dragging your tongue along the mark you just left. “You like when I mark you up like a filthy little slut?”

She whimpers, hips grinding helplessly into you.

“Tell me.”

“Yes,” she breathes. “I love it. Fuck—mark me, use me, just don’t stop—”

You grab her jaw, twist her head just enough to kiss her—sloppy, brutal, all tongue and teeth. Then you shove her face right back into the couch.

You’re close now—your thrusts faltering just slightly, balls tightening, that ache at the base of your spine coiling tighter and tighter.

“You feel that?” you rasp, voice breaking with need. “Feel how fucking close I am?”

She nods, practically sobbing, still clenching around you like her body’s begging for release.

“Then hold it. You hold that pretty little orgasm right there. Don’t cum until I do. You cum with me.”

She chokes out a sound that’s barely human, her fingers digging into the cushions, her legs trembling under you.

You slam into her harder, hips smacking her ass with brutal rhythm, both of you right on the fucking edge. Her pussy milks your cock, wetter than you’ve ever felt her, juices soaking your thighs, your abs, the couch.

“Now,” you growl. “Cum with me. Fucking cum with me, Emily.”

She screams your name as she cums, full-body shaking, her cunt pulsing around you in relentless waves. That’s what pushes you over—your balls tighten and then you’re exploding inside her, thick hot ropes of cum filling her up as you growl through clenched teeth, holding her hips in a bruising grip, locked deep inside her.

You don’t pull out. You stay there, cock buried to the base, her body twitching from aftershocks, both of you panting like animals.

Your cum leaks out of her, dripping down her thighs and soaking into the ruined cushion beneath her.

You lean down, kiss her shoulder—softer this time—and murmur, “Next time you want attention, you come to me, got it?”

She nods slowly, still breathless, still shaking. “Yours,” she whispers. “Always.”

And now she knows you mean it.

The room is quiet now, except for the heavy sound of your breathing and the slow tick of the wall clock. Emily’s still face-down on the couch, her cheek pressed into the cushions, arms limp, body spent. You’re both covered in sweat, your cum leaking out of her slowly, your hands still resting on her waist.

But that jealous fire in your chest—it’s gone now. Burned out and left behind something raw, something tender.

You lean over her back and kiss her spine, your lips brushing across damp skin in a line, slow and reverent. She shivers under you, sighing, not in pain, not quite in pleasure anymore either—just that soft, floaty space that comes after being completely undone.

“Hey,” you murmur, voice low but warm, as you pull back gently. “Can you turn over for me, baby?”

She nods, sluggish but trusting, and you help her shift, one hand supporting her back, the other brushing her hair from her face. Her eyes are heavy, hazy, but she smiles a little—soft, satisfied.

You reach for a towel, clean between her legs carefully, your touch feather-light now. She hisses a little as you dab around her thighs and her puffy, used pussy, and your chest tightens. Then you glance down and see her ass—red, glowing from where you’d spanked her, your handprints still faintly visible.

“Shit,” you whisper, frowning as you run your fingers gently over the heat of her skin. “Em... I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to go that hard.”

She opens her eyes a little more, meeting your gaze, and reaches for your hand.

“Hey,” she says softly, tugging your fingers to her lips for a kiss. “You didn’t go too far. I wanted it.”

You search her eyes for any sign she’s just saying that, but all you find there is calm. Fondness. A quiet kind of joy that cracks your heart open.

“Still,” you say quietly, brushing her hair behind her ear, “next time... tell me if it’s too much, alright?”

She nods. “I will.” A small pause, then a teasing smirk tugs at her lips. “But I think I liked how jealous you got.”

You groan and press your forehead to hers with a chuckle. “You’re such a brat.”

“I’m your brat.”

“Yeah,” you murmur, kissing her again—slower this time, full of warmth. “You are.”

You help her up off the couch, carry her to the bathroom even though she insists she can walk. She leans on you the whole time anyway, head resting on your shoulder while the water runs warm in the tub. You sit behind her in the water, legs tangled, your arms wrapped gently around her middle as she melts back against your chest.

“You okay?” you ask, brushing your fingers through her wet hair.

She hums. “Better than okay.” Then, after a breath: “I like when you’re soft like this.”

Your heart clenches a little, because you know what she means. You kiss the top of her head, press your cheek to her temple, and whisper, “I’ll always be soft with you. Even when I’m rough.”

She laughs lightly. “You’re such a sap when you’re not railing me into the couch.”

“And yet, you’re still here.”

“Always.”

[venusbyline]

Soapy ࿐ྂ Kinktober. 07, oct.

— pairing: Emily Prentiss x co-worker!reader

— type: smut, Kinktober (Criminal Minds Edition)

— kink: bath sex

— summary: You need to spend some time in the hotel bathtub to distract yourself from your broken heart. Your enemy and co-worker decides to join you.

— word count: 3.2k

— tags/warnings: kinktober 7th day, female!reader, co-worker/rival!Prentiss, bath sex, fingering, breast worship, non-consensual voyeurism, first time having sex with a woman, choking, nipple play, light degradation, praise kink, curse words, sassy!Prentiss, grumpy x sunshine, age gap (older woman/younger woman), sub!reader, dom! Prentiss, canon divergence, minor JJ x Reid, minor JJ x Prentiss, minor reader x Reid, lesbian!Prentiss, bisexual(?)!reader. no use of y/n. english is not my first language.

— tagging list: @thatredlipped-classic @purplehaze206 @ehedrick012110 @hotchsmutrecs @slutcakes00 @emma-e-a @helo1281917

— crossposting: AO3

Being paired up with Prentiss was something you always hated during every case. Sometimes you could have sworn Hotch drew the pairs falsely just to see the chaos happening on the team. The rivalry you and Prentiss created when you joined the BAU was the entire team's favorite entertainment.

Emily thought you were incompetent for the job, always too empathetic with everything and everyone, almost being like a sponge and attracting all the people's suffering onto yourself. She thought you were too unprofessional, always clinging to Reid as if you wanted to prove that you were made for each other. The similar personality, the common hobbies, the young age, the overtalking... She could barely spend two minutes by your side without rolling her eyes when you brought up a nerdy topic in the middle of the cases.

And you didn't have a very friendly judgment about Emily either. Grumpy, bossy, her sarcasm beyond measure, the way she attracted the attention of everyone wherever she went. The way even JJ seemed to chase her like a puppy. They complemented each other in a different way, and it wasn't a surprise to you when Morgan made fun of Reid that night, joking about the fact that JJ and Emily had been casually fucking for over a year.

What you took as a damn unnecessary confession, Reid felt like he'd been hit by a truck, swallowing hard as he stuttered and excused himself. The whole attitude was confusing and worrying by itself, but any mere suspicion that had been going on your head over the past months started to make sense when Morgan laughed after Spencer left, muttering something about the young man not knowing how to deal with his pathetic crush for JJ.

At that moment, you broke inside. Holding your ground until you got to your hotel room was one of the hardest things you've ever done. Your legs felt limp and your mind was spinning, a ridiculous urge to drown in your own tears as you lay in bed, sobbing softly into your pillow.

It took almost ten minutes for Emily to finally appear, frowning at the view. "You kidding me? Is there only one bed in this fucking room?" She asked, ignoring your crying and you also ignored her question, burying your face in the pillow with even more pressure than before, letting out a weak scream, mixed with anger, pain and frustration. "Damn, girl... Who broke your heart like that? You're look like a crybaby and you're almost eating our pillows. I can call the room service if you're so hungry. I bet a burger with fries and strawberry's milkshake will be tastier than that."

You just looked up and glared at her. You couldn't decide which was the worst part of all of this: Emily already knowing why you were crying or the fact that she was minimizing the situation. Before you could turn your head away and ignore her again, Emily continued.

"Seriously, are you really broken-hearted just because Reid doesn't like you the same way you like him?" She asked and you felt a pang in your heart.

"Shut up, Prentiss." You muttered with a trembling voice. Surprising you, Emily didn't laugh or even mock. She sighed loudly, mumbling something to herself before sitting on the edge of the bed you would share.

"Look, Spencer's... Complicated." Emily started and it was your turn to roll eyes, finally turning your body so you could face her better. The older agent looked at the neckline of your shirt for a few seconds before composing herself. "I'm serious. There's no point in crying over him right now. It's going to take a while for him to realize what an idiot he's being."

You huffed, crossing your arms while still lying down, looking at her with a mix of indignation and anger. "For liking JJ even though you know she'd rather fuck you?"

Emily's face paled, but she soon recovered, not wanting to show how surprised she was to see you being so direct about the usual fucking between her and the other teammate. "Y-Yes... That too." Emily stuttered in an almost cute way. "But that's not all."

You watched her with eyes still full of tears, however, now there was also confusion and curiosity there. Your brain was in a frenzy, trying to figure out what else she could be talking about.

Emily cleared her throat after a long moment of silence. "You should take a bath right now." She suggested, looking away. "Wipe those teary cheeks and get distracted by Spencer's crush on another girl."

You held back the urge to tell her to fuck off, despite knowing that behind that cold tone of voice, she was right. You urgently needed time to yourself. Maybe using the bathtub in the hotel room wouldn't be so bad after all.

You had been inside the bathtub for more than thirty minutes. The foams were decorating the water and you tried to calm down, but nothing could help much. Every time the image of Spencer invaded your brain, your fertile imagination led you to imagine him having sex with JJ.

You didn't know if she liked men too. All you knew was that JJ had an affair with Emily and Spencer had a crush on JJ. That didn't mean he was sleeping with her. Which was even worse. He could be liking a woman who didn't even like men.

Everything made you feel pathetic.

You tried rubbing your back with the sponge, but all that came out was a weak moan of pain. Your body was so tense that you could barely move your arms back. That would be the worst bath of your life, you were sure of it.

A groan escaped your lips and you leaned back against the tub, hands gripping the edges as you took a deep breath and tried hard to keep your thoughts away from JJ or Reid.

"You're overthinking." A voice was present a few minutes after you closed your eyes.

You were startled by the abrupt sound and also by realizing who owned the hoarse and at the same time sweet voice. "What the hell, Prentiss?" You exclaimed, cowering a little more under the water to avoid her seeing your naked body. "How did you get here?"

The sight of your curves didn't go unnoticed by Emily, a smirk appearing on her lips as she approached with calm steps, shrugging her shoulders. "You're the one who left the door open. I thought it was even an invitation for me to join you." She teased and you rolled your eyes, avoiding eye contact at that moment.

"I would never invite you to take a bath with me." You revealed with a colder voice than Emily was expecting, and her smirk turned into a frown again.

She poked the inside of her cheek with the tip of her tongue before scoffing. "For someone who can barely scrub their back with a sponge, you're being very picky about who can and who can't go into this bathroom with you."

You looked back at her, sighing with frustration and gripping the edges of the bathtub tighter. "Good to know you're creepy enough to watch me this whole time."

Emily laughed, shrugging and moving a little closer, until her tall body was facing your body submerged inside the water. "Oh, yeah. It's a little creepy, I admit. But watching you sponge your little pussy and shudder from such a fucking simple touch was quite a turn on." Her confession made your face redder than a strawberry. You stuttered several times before looking away, pulling yourself upright in the tub as you searched for the fluffy towel you had left somewhere. "Hey, hey, hey! I'm just kidding. Relax, girl." Emily grumbled, rolling her eyes. Her slender hands moved to your shoulders, helping you bend down into the bathtub. You swore you saw her gaze lingering too long on your soapy breasts.

You thought of some things to say, any offense or any question about the real reason she thought invading your bath might be a good idea. You had always hated each other and now she was here, looking at your wet body as if you were a work of art.

"You know, you're not that bad." Emily began, sitting on the stool directly behind the tub. You scoffed and held back from asking if she said the same passive-aggressive praise to JJ too. "I know what you're thinking."

"Do you read minds now, Agent Prentiss?" You tilted your head so you could look at her better. The sight alone made Emily bite her lip to hold back a moan. She could get an incredible glimpse of your breasts.

After clearing her throat to clear her thoughts, Emily argued. "I know you're comparing yourself to JJ."

Your face turned pale at the exactitude of what she was saying and your jaw clenched. You let out a nasal scoff, but your eyes filled with tears and you went back to playing with the bath bubbles.

The silence that emerged in the bathroom was uncomfortable for both of you, and to your surprise, Emily was the first to break it. "I can sponge your back if you want."

Your eyes widened, surprised by the suggestion. Getting to see a less evil side of Prentiss was one of the things you least expected in your entire life. You were so used to the older agent's surly manner and never thought that one day she would invite herself to help you take a bath. As awkward as the situation might be, you thought it best not to tease her, eager to see how she would deal with everything.

As soon as you handed the damp sponge to Emily, she swallowed hard, asking you to sit up straighter so she could do the task properly. The minutes passed like hours, so much so for you, who was sighing at the good feeling of having a decent massage. But also for Emily, who was already starting to regret having suggested it. Every time you sighed, she felt her heart rate increase.

"You shouldn't be sad if Reid doesn't like you." A sigh escaped your lips as soon as you heard Emily's words, feeling your neck tense again. "I'm serious."

You closed your eyes to hold back any vulnerable outbursts you might accidentally let out. So you chose to turn the matter against her. "Aren't you mad at Reid?" The question left her confused, stopping rubbing your back so she could stare at you. "He likes your girlfriend."

The words made Emily chuckle and she returned to focusing on the task, despite continuing to look at you. "JJ is not my girlfriend."

She smirked after your curious face. "What? Why the surprise? Not all the women I fuck are my girlfriends." She ran the sponge down your neck and you gasped, going back to watching the water to distract yourself from the unexpected sting in your pussy. Emily was so focused on your breasts that she didn't even seem to notice how you were sighing heavily at her touches. "JJ's an amazing woman, but I'm not looking for a relationship right now."

"Of course." You scoffed, taking a deep breath as Emily leaned in closer, lowering the foamy sponge to your collarbone, quickly stroking the opening between your breasts. "If I didn't know you any better, I'd say you were trying to have sex with me."

Emily's eyes widened and she stared at you in shock for a moment, but put on a stoic expression before saying. "Maybe." She sponged the spot a second time, enjoying watching how you squirmed at the sensation. "Would you say yes?"

You reflected on the possible pros and cons of all that. You two hated each other like cats and dogs, you could barely be near each other without losing your temper. There was a good chance the sex would be horrible and Emily would go around making fun of you with the rest of the team.

But on the other hand, you were very hurt and frustrated by the discovery of Spencer's feelings about JJ. Any casual sex would be a huge help, even if it was with the most insufferable person in the BAU.

Instead of answering verbally, you tilted your head back further, making Emily's hand slide better over your chest, your skin filling with the pink foam.

"Good girl..." Emily hissed, biting her lip, squeezing the sponge and pressing it into you more firmly. You sighed when Emily passed the object over the tip of your left breast, the gentle touch making your legs twitch in the tub.

Emily did the same with the right breast, dropping the sponge back into the water before looking at you, noting how beautiful you looked with your flushed cheeks and wet soapy breasts. "I lied. You're really quite a vision."

You smiled softly, raising an eyebrow. "I thought you hated me."

A snort escaped Emily's red lips and she ripped off her matching shirt, making you even more embarrassed to see her lack of bra, her heavy breasts so close to your face as she bent down so she could run her fingers over you neck. "I fucking hate you, sweetheart. Don't worry." She purred in your ear, while her hand applied light pressure to your throat. "That's not gonna change just because I'm about to make you cum."

You gasped at the gentle grip, but your focus shifted to her lips, so red and luscious. Emily seemed to notice your desperation, as she soon allowed you to taste them, breaking the distance between you by kissing your lips hungrily.

Then your legs tremble during the kiss. You couldn't tell if it was due to Emily's gentle bites on your lower lip, if it was due to her careful choking on your neck or if it was due to her other slender fingers that were playing with your nipples, twirling the little buds.

"E-Emily..." You moaned her name into the kiss and she chuckled softly.

"Are we on first name terms already? I thought you hated me." She teased, using your own previous words against yourself. "Just relax, sweetheart..."

She finally let go of your neck and you gasped, your lungs grateful for the air. You didn't have time to answer properly, falling silent when she began to grip your soapy breasts, enjoying the mounds and biting her lips. "Fuck... Reid has no idea what he's missing."

You frowned, not wanting to hear anything about Soencer. You wanted to pretend you weren't mad at him. You just wanted to cum and leave to deal with your feelings the next day. Then you moved your hand to Emily's breast, taking advantage of the fact that it was so close to your face. Her breasts were so heavy and beautiful that you moaned just caressing them. You had never slept with a woman before, but you were starting to understand why JJ couldn't look away from Emily's neckline whenever they were in public.

"You like them?" Emily asked with a sigh and you nodded silently, your thumbs playing with her pink nipples. "You wanna put them on your mouth?"

The question was so fucking obvious. Your mouth was watering just thinking about those delicious mounds on your lips. "God, yes... Please."

Emily scoffed at the way you begged, but did as you asked. She leaned over until her breasts were right above your face. Your underwater body arched upwards and you began licking her pointed nipple, hearing her soft moans. She gasped as you sucked on one breast and switched to the other, looking desperate like a hungry baby. "Such a good mouth..." Emily growled, looking at your body arched in the bathtub, the sight of your pussy finally appearing made her moan even more, bouncing her breast on your mouth to encourage you even more. She ran one of her hands down your belly, watching your body tremble and shiver until she touched the soft hairs on your pussy.

You squirmed slightly, removing the nipple from your lips so you could moan loudly at the unexpected sensation. The water from the bathtub made your pussy even more slippery as she rubbed your clit. “That feels so good…” You pursed your lips, trying to hold on to the tub as Emily increased the speed of the rubbing.

"I know, sweetheart... You're creaming my fingers." Emily whispered mockingly, using her free hand to press you back onto her breasts, moaning at the feeling of your warm mouth. "Have you done this before?" While you nibbled on the soft flesh of her mounds, you muttered a denial. "Fucking in the bathtub or fucking with a woman?"

Your cheeks turned red again and you opened your legs wider, allowing Emily's fingers to move down from your clit to your opening, one finger entering inside you. "Both." You muttered and she nodded, biting back a scoff that wanted to escape. She fingerfucked you a little harder, adding one more and rubbing her thumb over your pleasure spot. "You're so tight..."

You didn't know how to thank her for the praise, so you focused on sucking her nipple, closing your eyes so you could whimper muffledly every time she increased the speed of the movements, water starting to splash out of the bathtub and making a mess in the hotel's bathroom.

When Emily started fucking you faster, you felt your mind going into a state of ecstasy mixed with agony. You never felt anything like this before with another person, the boys you sporadically had sex with didn't seem to be able to fuck rough and good the same time, it was always very dull or very aggressive to the point of being painful for you. There was no middle ground. But Prentiss seemed to find the perfect formula. As you felt her add a third finger, you tried to wriggle away from her touch, the stretch now being equivalent to a thick cock.

"Just relax, sweetheart..." Emily tried to calm you down, keeping you steady with her other hand. You moved away from her chest, making a saliva noise when one of her breasts escaped from your red swollen lips. The worried look on your face softened her. "Trust me, okay?"

You wanted to defend yourself, to say that you weren't scared by the intense stretching inside your pussy, but rather by the pleasure unlike anything you had ever felt. It was all too confusing and new. "It's so good..." You practically sobbed and she furrowed for a few seconds, realizing why you were trying to distance yourself from her fingers.

"Oh, sweetheart... No cock fucked that pretty little pussy of yours so good like that?" She teased and despite knowing she would make fun of you for the rest of your life, you shook your head. "Poor little girl..." Emily scoffed, kissing your forehead and keeping to fuck you, your walls clenching around her three fingers as your clit throbbed from the friction her thumb was causing. “Enjoy it, sweetheart. You'll realize that it's not worth crying for a man if you can distract yourself by cumming in my hand."

Criminal Minds Edition - Masterlist

HOTD Edition - Masterlist

Venusbyline's Kinktober 2024 - Masterlist

[imagining-in-the-margins]

CM Friends-with-Benefits Challenge

The following are prompts including friends with benefits/situationships!

This event is over (Masterlist here!), but you are welcome to use any of these prompts. If you would like to be added to the existing Masterlist of entries, please check out the Rules below!

🥰 Song Prompts 🥰

"Sex" by The 1975

"Too Sweet" by Hozier

"dress" by Taylor Swift

"august" by Taylor Swift

"Casual" by Chappell Roan

"Dinner & Diatribes" by Hozier

"Close to You" by Gracie Abrams

“Stuck in the Middle” by Tai Verdes

"Good Luck, Babe!" by Chappell Roan

"I Wanna Be Yours" by Arctic Monkeys

“Why’d You Only Call Me When You’re High?” by Arctic Monkeys

💌 Dialogue Prompts 💌

“I’m just in it for the snacks.”

“No wonder you’re single…” (joking?)

“So... what’s the stance on cuddling?”

"You deserve something real. I want us to be real.”

“We’re just friends with benefits.” // “Right, and the benefit is being madly in love.” (sarcasm?)

“We’re… friends. With benefits.” // “Without sex? What’s the benefit?” // “My delightful company, asshole.”

"I'm your boyfriend without the benefits." // "Do you want the benefits?" // "Yes—No... I'm your fluffer!" ('New Girl')

“What is up with those two lately?” // “They’re sleeping together.” // “Yeah, right. Imagine… wait, seriously?”

General & NSFW Prompts Below!

🌹 General Prompts 🌹

Someone figures out the situation. A and B try to figure out how.

A is blindsided by jealousy when someone shows an interest in B.

A and B try to be normal so no one knows. Literally everyone knows.

A is so worried about B falling for them that A fails to realize A already fell for B.

A realizes they are happier with B than any actual significant other they’ve had.

A is totally B’s type, which has never worked out before. As a result, A keeps sabotaging things.

A agrees to a situationship with B because they think it's the only way they'll be able to have them.

A reaches out to B for a hookup but gets rejected, and they each struggle with their disappointment.

A is treating the arrangement like a formal business deal. B gets tired of it and shuts them up with a kiss.

A and B used to be friends with benefits. When they meet again later, the arrangement is still appealing.

A has to leave town for a long time. They have one last night with B but don’t tell them. They’re gone in the morning and leave B wondering what they wanted to say the night before.

Anything else you can think of!

💋 NSFW Prompts 💋

A completely defies B’s expectations of what they’re like in bed.

A and B decide to hook up one last time (or maybe not the last...)

A agreed to take B’s virginity as long as B didn’t catch feelings. It seems like B didn’t. A did, though.

A and B's no-judgment rule means they're finally comfortable to ask for what they've always wanted to try in bed.

A is annoyed with B, so they start loudly complaining/joking about their situationship. Angry/playful sex ensues.

A and B have never felt truly satisfied in bed until there were no strings attached... it definitely wasn't because of finding the right partner.

Happy Writing!

[xoxbunni]

warnings: rough sex, unprotected p in v (don't recommend! trust me.), overstimulation ( just a tiny bit), hair pulling, spanking, pussy eating, squirting, creampie, crying, VERY VOCAL sex, names (slut, whore, mama, baby) i think that's it!

if you don't like these themes feel free to click out! 💞

chris heard your bed slamming against the wall as he pounded into your warm slick. "fffuck you wanted this huh? dressed like such a slut for me hm?" he said as he slapped your ass. "shut the fuck u-" you were cut off to a harsh slap on your ass.

chris rubbed your ass he slapped it again harder "say it again hm?" he whispered into your ear harshly. his cock moved quicker in you if that was even possible. his fingers moved to your clit rubbing it in circles. loud whines and moan escaped your pretty plump lips.

how did you end up like this you ask? well you thought it was a smart idea to arrive to chris's dealing party with the tiniest mini skirt ever and a tube top. and thats how you ended up face down ass up on chris's bed joints layed on the nightstand next to you guys. clients waiting for chris to sell to them, but he didn't care all he wanted to do was fuck you till you saw stars.

"mhm ngh!" you moaned as the sound of skin slapping filled the room. chris moved his hand that was rubbing circles on your clit to your lower stomach. where he could feel himself thrust into your slick. "fucking s-slut, why are you so goddamn tight" he groaned pushing his hand on your lower abdomen "ya feel me?" he asked.

you were lost in pleasure as you didn't answer your face in the pillows. chris grabbed your hair in a fist "i asked a question you dirty whore" he spat. "y-ye-yes! yes chris! s-so big!" you yelled. "uh huh" he said letting go of your hair your head falling back into the pillow. the pillow collected your pornographic moans and that pissed chris off. he wrapped his arm around your neck and made your back hit his chest, you sat up straight as his cock slammed into you.

"yes chris! please please d-don't stop!" you yelled as he basically filled you up. his arm still wrapped around you, you were basically in a headlock and it turned you on so much. your nails dug into his arm screaming his name"yeah? you want everyone to know who's dick you love" chris said. you nodded quickly. you approached your high quickly "chris! wanna cum! p-please" you whined

"go ahead mama" he whispered into your ear. you let go but chris didn't stop instead he kept on going. he flipped you over onto your back as he approached his high slipping in and out your pussy. "look at that fuck so dirty for me" he said into your ear. whimpers escaped your mouth as you whined repeatedly at the overstimulation. "where baby?" he asked rushed

"ins-inside!" you barely managed to get out. chris knew you were too fucked out to think clearly but that was one of the hottest things he ever heard you say so he did. his cum spurted out of his cock painting your walls white as you moaned at the warm feeling abrupting in your womb. chris pulled out slowly watching your cum and his mix together pooling at the sheets, he dropped onto his knees staring.

he placed his warm tongue inside you slowly thrusting in to taste you and him. your hands flew to his hair pulling. tears pierced in your eyes as you stared at him in-between your legs

"o-oh!" you moaned as your back arched for the 100th time that night. he looked up at you with eyes filled with lust. tears fell down your face, your hair messy, clothes ripped off, makeup ruined.

you quickly felt an unfamiliar feeling pooling in you. "chris-" you started as clear liquid geushed out of you falling onto the sheets, chris's face and your legs "im sorr-" you said before you got caught off "that was the sexiest thing ever" chris stated matter of factly.

"now do it again"

authors notes: not doing a masterlist rn so all written works are under the first tag!! ❤️ also send me requestsss or js talk to me!!

[op1umeyes]

tickled pink ✩ aaron hotchner

🌸 - synopsis. Aaron shows up to work in a pink (!!!!!!!!!!!?????) tie.

“Uhh, Hotch? Are you feeling… okay?”

Derek’s question caught Aaron off guard. “I feel fine. What’s wrong?”

Emily’s eyebrows shot up. “Are you having a stroke? Reid, what are symptoms of a heart attack? I think you had one this morning,” she tells him, waving Spencer over.

“What? Absolutely not. I’m completely fine,” Hotch dissmisses the team’s retorts with a wave of his hand. “Why do you think there’s something wrong?”

“You- of all people- are wearing pink,” Spencer informs him.

“Oh.” Hotch looks down at his light pink tie with a soft, indecipherable smile. “Yes. I didn’t think you’d notice.” (Emily crosses her arms, Spencer’s mouth drops open, and Derek scoffs- all offended beyond comprehension.) “I felt like wearing it, is all.”

“Someone needs to keep an eye on him,” Emily murmurs. “I think he’s lost it this time.”

“Unbelievable,” Derek agrees.

“We’ll have to tell y/n he’s being weird,” Emily schemes out loud. “Maybe she’ll come 

Spencer shrugs. “Maybe he really just felt like wearing it.”

Derek and Emily exchange glances before bursting out in laughter and walking back over to their desks- leaving Spencer’s eyebrows knitted in confusion and accusatory eyes switching from Emily to Derek.

Hotch- now in his office- scrolls through the ultrasound pictures on his phone. The day before was the appointment you and Aaron had been informed the gender of your baby. The only one that knew you were pregnant was Rossi- who had helped schedule the ultrasound as early as humanly possible.

He was just about to put his phone down when he saw ‘Wife ❤️’ messaged him. He turned to look down at the bullpen, where his team was currently joking around. With a contentedly full heart, Aaron turns his attention back to the text where his pretty wife tells him that Jack wants pasta for dinner. 

[sincerelybubbles]

Here's a dialogue prompt for Emily please! Try this out pls. Love you Kam sm sm. "So why are you here?" "To make a fool of myself." ok ty lysm

even though i watched u type this, the wording makes me giggle every time i look at it.

emily prentiss x tech analyst!reader <3

warnings: fem!reader, cannon typical violence, very brief allusions to sexual assault (nothing happens!), angst and fluff! mutual pining.

word count: 5.4k

Emily is the loveliest thing you've ever seen and you can't imagine how she could ever possibly like you back. She enjoys the game, though, and teasing you is her favorite hobby.

-

It’s a sunny day. Warmth trickles down with the scattered light through the leaves. Patterns trace your arms, throwing your skin into a collage of different shapes and shades. Leaning back on your elbows, you watch people mill about the park. You look back down at your arm after a few more minutes, this time focused on the small watch resting there. With a sigh, you stand up and dust off your pants before picking up the small blanket you laid out and tucking it into your bag. 

You walk back to work, enjoying the sounds of the people around you. You lingered too long at the park during your break and are hoping that nobody notices your slightly late return. Maybe the team will be in a meeting, gruesome pictures you never quite learned to stomach plastered on the board, entirely oblivious to your tardiness. 

Unlikely, but a welcome thought soothing your anxiety as you push the door open and scan your badge at the security desk. 

“Welcome back,” the security guard says, smiling at you over his paperback. He’s an old greying man and you vaguely recognize him. You think he’s new and send him a warm smile in return. 

“Thanks,” you glance at his name badge, “Martin!”

You walk past him and step into the elevator. “Wait!” A voice calls and you reach forward to hit the hold button instinctively before you register the voice as Emily’s. 

She jogs into the elevator with you, smiling gratefully. “Thanks, I’m already running a little behind.” She lifts a container and shakes it a little. The label is from the Italian bistro across the street, about a ten-minute walk away and always nearly triple that in wait time. 

“Brave of you to go there during your lunch,” you joke, returning her smile and pressing the button for your floor. 

You hope she can’t see how your hands shake as you reach forward.

“I know, I just love their Pasta Brado. Have you tried it?”

“Can’t say I have. I’m boring, I usually go for the parm.”

“You’re not boring,” she says so earnestly that you can’t help but blush. You cough as an excuse to raise your hand to your face and hopefully hide it some. “You do have to try it, though. Here,” she offers you the plastic box. 

“Oh, I couldn’t. And I already ate.” You ignore the way your chest hurts a little at how enthusiastic she is. The worst part? She doesn’t even know how endearing her simple kindness, her casual enthusiasm, is to you. 

“Tomorrow, then. We can go together.” The elevator doors open as she says it and she steps out with an affirmative nod to solidify it. “Don’t try to bail out on me either, I know where to find you.”

“Yeah, I'm okay,” you say, feeling lame as you step out behind her. “I would love to.” She’s too far to hear you, though, already heading to Spencer’s desk and jumping right into his conversation with Morgan. 

Someone says your last name and you turn on your heel to see Hotch and cringe slightly. “I was trying to find you.” It’s a kinder way of him reminding you that you’re nearly ten minutes late back from your lunch. 

“Sorry, sir.”

“It’s fine. Do you have the reports finished from last week's trip to Huston?”

“Yes, sir, they’re at my desk. One moment.”

-

You and Emily don’t go to the bistro the next day because she and the team are sent to a small town in Kansas that night. 

“I’ll owe you lunch,” she says, hand on the back of your desk chair and brushing your shoulder as the team rushes to the jet. 

“Don’t worry about it!” You reassure her.

“I’m taking you to lunch,” she calls over her shoulder, pretend-glaring, “you will try that Brado!”

And then she’s gone, leaving you giddy and breathless. 

You know she’s just being friendly – she treats Spencer, Morgan, and JJ all the same as you – but her efforts to spend one-on-one time with you outside of work still have you feeling like a schoolgirl passed a note from her crush in class. 

You try to remind your heart to stop singing because Emily probably isn’t even gay and definitely isn’t interested. Instead, Garcia scares the shit out of you when she interrupts your inner monologue. 

“Lunch with Emily? Things are getting serious in your work marriage.” You hadn’t seen her walk into the room and jump at her voice, hand jumping to your mouth to suppress a yelp. “Sorry! Sorry!”

“It’s okay, didn’t see you.”

“Your loss, I look fantastic today.”

“As always,” you smile up at her, nose wrinkling and genuine fondness filling your senses. 

“Careful, wouldn’t want a workplace affair,” she jokes, leaning against your desk and picking up the stress ball you keep handy. 

“Stop,” you moan in good nature. “Nobody else calls us work wives.”

“That’s just because they don’t have my brilliance and excellent observational skills.”

“Nor do they have the same privy to my more personal thoughts,” you say, glancing up at her before returning to your paperwork. With the team leaving so quickly to tend to a missing child's case, you’re not getting home in time to cook dinner but are hoping to leave early enough to grab food instead of resorting to your freezer stash. 

“I would hope not. You know I can’t be replaced, baby.”

“Does Morgan know you talk to all your work besties like this?”

“I most certainly do not. You’re a regular bestie, not a work bestie.” A wink and then her expression sobers. “I do have an actual reason for visiting your humble cubical, though.”

“Hm?”

“I’m going to need extra hands for this case. It’s time-sensitive, as usual, and seems like it will be particularly tricky.”

“Yes ma’am,” you say, dropping your pen and standing to follow her. 

Your position at the bureau is kind of a catch-all. Most of your time is spent logging data, building reports, and doing general research for the team. Occasionally, though, you jump in to help Garcia with real-time research. Nothing as high-stakes as her direct assignments, more background work. Calling offices to talk to managers, combing through more meticulous data, generic census material to rule out obvious dead ends. 

It’s stressful work that technically isn’t what you’re paid for but you never complain. Your team saves lives, consistently putting themselves in the line of danger. If you have to spend a few hours a month helping Garcia call a suspect's manager at McDonald's to see if he still works there, it’s literally the least you can do. 

“Yes, so, it looks like our unsub…”

You drown out Garcia’s brief about information you already have sitting in front of you and begin vetting possible suspects from the large pool her system created.

It’s going to be a long night. You think about future Brado to cheer you up. 

-

“Reid, Prentiss take the back,” Hotch’s voice fills your ears. You imagine the pair nodding and splitting off from the group. 

This is your least favorite part of helping the team with active investigations – listening in on the calls. It’s rare that you and Garcia join the line when they’re approaching the unsub but, with you helping her, it isn’t a risk to distract Garcia and a much quicker method of getting any new information the team needs. It’s a new system you’ve only tried thrice, unsure how having microphones on 24/7 will work, and it grants you and the team more fluid communication.

Still, adrenaline floods your veins as you listen to their coms, the sounds of Garcia typing a constant behind their voices, imagining every way this could go wrong. 

You suspect the girl is still alive, the uncle doesn’t seem to have any reason to kill her just yet, but your fear for her grows with every minute. 

“Clear!”

Your eyes fall to the receipts flooding your screen. Ammo. A new rifle and pistol. The team knows but the evidence of this unsubs ability to hurt any of your friends, your family, isn’t helping your nerves. 

“I think he’s going to the roof!” Morgan’s voice, clear in the comms. 

You click out of the documents. Two swift motions on the screen. The firm press of the button. 

“Morgan, you’re on foot. Prentiss, follow him. Everyone else in vans, go!”

“Garcia, map out possible escape routes from the roof,” you instruct. 

She nods, screens shifting immediately. She puts on her own headset with one hand and clicks on the call and starts to bark information to Hotch. 

“Got her!” Reid’s voice sounds and you deflate a little. He mutes as he begins to console the small girl. 

You know you can take off your headset now, leave the call, and go to your paperwork. There isn’t much more you can do to help – you’re sure that’s what you’re supposed to do – but you stay on anyway, listening. 

“Right on Elmore!” Morgan calls. You find the street on Garcia’s screen, eyes tracing the path you think they’re taking. 

“We’ll try to cut him off,” Rossi says and you can hear tires in the background of the call. The click of a steering wheel cutting to the side too quickly. Someone’s labored breathing – probably Morgan’s as he dead sprints. 

“Stop! Put your hands up!” Emily shouts. The firmness in her voice makes you sit up straighter in your chair. 

You hear something that sounds vaguely like, “bitch,” before a loud pop drowns anything else out. 

“Emily!” Morgan’s voice, more pops. 

Gunfire. That’s gunfire, your brain recognizes. 

Your blood has gone cold.

“We need a medic!” Morgan shouts. Hotch’s line blinks red, going dead as he calls the ambulance. “Emily, Emily.”

Rustling. Cars. Sirens. Morgan’s line goes dead after you hear a car door slam shut. Then Reid’s and Rossi’s. Emily’s is the last to stay green, blinking.

You and Garcia stare at each other as you listen to Emily be loaded into an ambulance. Listen to Morgan tell the team, voice far away and barely tangible, that the unsub only managed to fire out one shot before he downed him. 

Neither of you can hear where she was shot or how badly injured she is before Emily’s line goes red as well.

-

“Emily?” You call softly, rapping your knuckles softly on the frame of the cracked hospital door. 

Your name, faint, answers you and you take that as permission to nudge the door open. The room looked dark from the hallway but Emily has the small lamp embedded on the wall switched on, throwing her face into harsh shadow. 

“Hey, you,” you say, walking in, arms full. “I brought things.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” she says, trying to sit herself up further and wincing as the motion pulls on her stitches in her abdomen. 

“Wait, let me help you,” you say, setting your things down and reaching out a hand. 

You wait for her nod before touching her, letting her grasp your arm and looping your other arm around the back of her waist to take most of her weight yourself. 

“Thanks,” she mumbles. You can tell she hates feeling useless, hates needing help for something as simple as sitting up, so you drop the subject with a nod and kind smile. 

You turn around to the small rolling tray where you put your things down, pulling two black containers out from a plastic bag. You feel silly and very awkward as you turn around to show them to her. 

“I know it’s probably not quite what you meant but,” you set the containers down on her bed and pop one open. 

“The Pasta Brado! Oh man, I was going to treat you.” She’s pouting through a smile, attempting to put on an upset facade and failing miserably. 

It’s so cute that you struggle with what to say next. 

“Thank you, really. You can pull up that chair, if you’re hungry now.”

You grab the chair she’s motioned to and drag it to sit next to her. “I’m hungry if you are. It might be a little cold, though, it’s kind of a far walk.”

“You walked here?” Emily asks, tone appalled and face comically shocked. 

“Yeah, my car broke down last week. I’ve been walking to work – it’s actually really nice out right now – and I couldn’t find a cab from the bistro.” You busy yourself with the food while you talk, opening the second container, setting it on her legs, and unwrapping the plastic cutlery for her. 

“Jesus! You didn’t need to come and see me if you don’t have a car. You didn’t need to come at all, actually. I really appreciate it,” she amends, seeing how your bashful smile freezes on your face, reaching forward as if to touch your face and brushing your shoulder instead. “It’s really sweet of you but you didn’t need to walk all that way. Isn’t it like a twenty-minute walk from here?”

Over thirty, but you nod anyway, knowing it won’t help your case to correct her. “It’s not a big deal. You were shot in the stomach, of course I wanted to see you.”

“Ah, so you wouldn't want to see me otherwise,” she teases, nodding and pushing her pasta around with her fork. She doesn’t even try to conceal her grin. 

“Ha ha, very funny,” you mumble. You take a bite of your food and your eyes widen. “Oh my god.”

“I knew you would love it,” she beams, watching your expression as you taste the food. You you she meant to say it in a gloating way but you swear you can hear a sort of fondness behind the words. Something in you warms at her ability to know you so well. 

You tell yourself you’re overreacting about both thoughts. 

“You were right – Emily this is unfairly good.”

“Oh, I know,” she says, taking her own bite and letting out an exaggerated moan, complete with an eye roll. You giggle and she smiles at you. “Thank you, this is exactly what I needed.”

“You’re welcome,” you say, holding her eye contact. 

She's been in the hospital for three days, transferred back to Virginia last night; her hair is unwashed and unbrushed, and she’s wearing no makeup and a hospital gown. 

She’s still the prettiest girl you’ve ever seen. 

-

Your car is fixed by the time Emily is released from the hospital two days later and you offer to take her home. 

“Hi Sergio,” you greet the cat brushing against your legs as Emily disengages the alarm. 

You set her things down by the door before turning to offer her your arm. Emily doesn’t pretend that she doesn’t need the help when it’s just you two, something you’re grateful for after watching her struggle with the team around, and lets you guide her to her bedroom. 

You set about making her comfortable, turning down her sheets and propping the pillows up so she can sit. 

“I’ve got it,” she laughs, playfully pushing away your hands. 

You laugh along with her, raising your hands and backing away. “I’m going to go put the rest of your stuff away and get you a drink.”

“Perfect, I’ll take an old-fashioned. Don’t forget the cherry.”

You roll your eyes at her, scoffing and leaving her room. 

You throw her clothes and go-bag in her laundry room before making her a glass of water and another glass of juice. Once you’re sure she’s settled in her bed with her book, you return to the kitchen to make her a few dinners, ignoring her protests. 

-

Emily is back in the field much sooner than you would have liked. 

“I was cleared by the doctors,” she tells you, coat slung over her arm as she digs through her bag for her badge. 

You smile at Martin, sending him a mock exasperated look, before she finds her ID and shows it to him. 

“It still seems too soon, Em,” you persist, reaching forward to push the elevator button and turning so you can lean back to watch her face. 

“Em?” Emily asks, the hint of a smile pulling up the left corner of her mouth. 

You sort of feel like you could die in that moment, just from the heat that simple gesture surges through you. 

“It just sort of slipped out, sorry,” you say, thoroughly embarrassed. 

The elevator dings and the doors open, throwing you off balance for a second. This doesn’t help your already flared nerves as you stumble back and drop your bag. You reach down to gather it and the files scattered across the floor. 

You’re kneeling to stuff everything in your bag when Emily crosses your line of sight again, wide smile on her face – teeth fully on display and nose scrunched, you are in desperate need of help – holding out your notepad.

“I think the nickname’s sweet. I kind of like the idea of having a name only one person, only you, calls me.”

All of the air has left this godforsaken elevator, the heat must be on, you stare dumbly at her as she reaches forward to grab your bag and put the rest of your papers inside of it for you. 

And then, realizing you look like an absolute idiot, you snap back into your body and cough slightly. The doors ding and open again, you grab your bag from her and stand slowly. Smiling at her, still crouched on the floor and looking, amused, up at you through her eyelashes, you say, “Okay. Thanks, then, Emmy.”

You walk away after that brief flash of confidence, telling yourself you’re just imagining how you swear her face flushed bright at your comment. 

And if Morgan mentions a few minutes that Emily seems flusters, well, who can blame you for floating on that high for a few days?

Except she doesn’t let it go. 

She corners you on your break in the kitchenette. Literally. She catches you when you’re examining the coffee pot that has been making concerning gurgles for the past few days and leans on the counter behind you, effectively blocking your exit. 

Not that you really want to leave. 

She’s wearing a red tank top and dark jeans, her hair is loose around her shoulders, eyes steadily trained on your face as you work. 

“Hello,” you say, quiet in a way you’re not normally. 

“Hi.”

“What’re you doing?” You ask after a few more moments of her silently staring at you while you pretend to know what you’re doing with a screwdriver. 

“Enjoying the view.”

You drop your screwdriver and relish in the sound of her laugh. 

-

You’d love to say that you had some suave answer to return her charm but you think you spent it all that morning with your boldness. 

You’re not shy but confidence doesn’t run in your blood either. You’d say you’re pretty normal – average. You don’t find much wrong with that, you know you have other qualities that build you up into an interesting person. You love your friends and coworkers deeply, for one. And have an intense trust in them and their abilities. 

That trust is always tested in your day-to-day at work but never more than now as you feel the car around you make turns at highway speeds. You think you’re on some sort of back road but it’s hard to tell from the trunk given the obvious lack of windows. 

You’re calmer than you thought you would be if kidnapped. 

Groaning after one particularly rough turn that has you jostling against the sides of the trunk, you allow your head to thump back and stare at the inside of the dark car. Light breaks through the cracks of the hinges of the trunk and you wonder if water trickles through when it rains. 

You’ve been in here too long to consider if you’re focused on the wrong things. You’re scared shitless, of course, but the adrenaline faded about an hour into your drive and now you’re just bored. 

Imagine that – bored as fuck in the trunk of a stranger's car, wrists burning from the rope and jaw sore from where it’s been forced open too long by the fabric tied around the back of your head. 

You’re just allowing yourself to reimagine your morning with Emily when the car stops and the engine cuts. 

You snap back into the present, energy flooding your system again as your brain flicks into overdrive. You might spend your days paper-pushing behind a desk, but you passed your physical. You’re smart, you’ve heard the stories of how these victims survive captivity. 

When the trunk pops open, you squeeze your eyes shut to prevent pain from the sudden lack of light. You don’t want to be blinded and the action has the added benefit of pleasing your captor. He put a hood over your hood when he grabbed you, muttering in your ear in tense tones that you would do best to not even try to see him. 

Say what you will, you usually do a pretty good job at following directions. This one is easy and happens to be number one on your list right now – keep him happy so he keeps you alive. 

“Good girl,” a gruff voice says before a calloused hand gropes the back of your neck to yank you forward. Scratchy fabric envelops your head and your hot breath bounces back against you, trapped against the fabric of the hood. 

You stand when his hands start to grab your waist, pulling yourself to your knees and allowing yourself to be lifted from the trunk.

You want to run but know now’s not the time. 

“Look at how well-behaved you are!” His breath is wet against your neck. He stands too close, hands clawing under the hem of your shirt to cling to your skin. 

He walks you forward like that, chest pressed against your back and breath slithering down the collar of your shirt to hang uncomfortably over your collarbones. 

It’s becoming increasingly more obvious what this sicko wants from you and your stomach is twisting at the thought. You urge the team to hurry up, knowing your absence would have been missed ages ago. They have to be looking for you by now. And, with how sloppy this dude seems to be, he must have left a plethora of clues waiting to be found. 

You have to repeat this to yourself as you hear a door lock click. 

“Took you long enough. This is the girl? She’s kind of … well,” the second man kisses his teeth with a sharp sound. You’re pushed forward again. “Whatever floats your boat man.” The door shuts and locks behind you. The second man's voice fades as he talks, disinterested. 

You wonder if it’s wrong to feel slightly insulted right now. 

“This way, doll.”

You listen. It’s saving your life to be complicit in his directions, so you listen. Still, you’re shoved harshly to the floor once you get to where he wants you, knees striking what feels like cement. Before you can recover, your cheek stings and your head is whipping to the side from a sudden slap. 

Then, there’s a kick to your ribs. You fall onto your side, too winded to even cry out, lips falling open in a silent scream. A boot in your belly. Your ribs again, your hip and back. 

“Why?” You manage to sob out. “Why, why?”

You don’t get an answer.

-

You’re not overly religious but you thank whatever heavens or universe exists that he leaves you alone once he’s done kicking the shit out of you. Your ribs are bruised but the worst you expected hasn’t happened. 

The boredom returns as you lay with throbbing ribs. At least one is broken and every breath hurts. You can’t imagine sitting up and, luckily, with your hands tied behind your back, it’s not really an option anyway. 

It must be near an hour later when you’re fading out of consciousness – a purposeful choice on your part to save your energy – when you hear the front door burst down. 

“FBI! Hands where I can see them!” Morgan. You nearly weep but think better when your stuttered gasp makes your side throb. “What the fuck?” You hear shouted in reply. “Robb, what the fuck man.”

There isn’t much of a resistance from the living room. The second man is shouting at what you can only assume is the first – your initial kidnapper – but there’s nothing else other than that. 

“Clear!” You hear Hotch call. Spencer replies and then you hear the door nearest you open. 

His voice calls out your name. You deflate against the floor. A second, you know he’s scanning the room with his gun before holstering it. “Clear! I need a medic!”

Hands, gentle, against your face, removing the hood. Swifter after that, removing your gag, and then hand binds. 

“Hey, Spence,” you say, trying to smile up at him. 

“Shh, you’re okay. We’ve got you.” He starts to support your weight behind your shoulders and the pain that brings is too intense to prevent your yelp. 

“Oh my god, is she okay?” You hear Emily ask seconds before you see her. She looks concerned, hair now in a tight ponytail and FBI vest strapped over her chest. She whispers your name once and then a second time, reaching forward to gently brush your hair out of your eyes. 

“Hey, pretty,” you say, words tumbling out of your mouth before you can catch them.

“Hi beautiful,” she answers, reply just as soft as your own. Earnest. 

It makes your heart ache and, for the first time since being yanked off the road walking to grab lunch, you start to cry. 

“Hey, hey, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, beautiful, it’s okay. You’re okay.” She repeats this as you’re lifted by the paramedics and cry harder. 

She repeats it when they stitch up where kicks burst the skin over your cheekbone open, repeats it as she trails a hand down your arm in gentle patterns while they examine your ribs and confirm that you’ve broken two, maybe three. 

She tries with you in the ambulance. 

You can’t help but think about being on the phone when you heard Emily be shot weeks earlier. You squeeze your eye shut as they insert the IV, beyond grateful that she’s there to hold your hand while they do it. The tear that falls down your cheek has nothing to do with the pain and everything to do with the thought that you couldn’t have been there for her in the same way. 

An odd thought, you realize, but it’s the one you’re stuck with as you drift away when the pain medicine enters your system. 

-

You’re sent home three days later. You insist on spending the night alone, afraid to admit you’re scared because, honestly, nothing much happened to you. 

Oh, of course, everyone tries to convince you otherwise but you know they’ve all had it worse. You were gone from the bureau for about eight hours and spent most of it bored. 

So you force yourself to spend the night alone. You don’t need help moving around or doing things for yourself so you convince yourself you don’t need help. 

You’re cooking dinner when the doorbell rings. You wipe your hands with a dish towel and take your time walking to the door to look through the peephole. You don’t know who took you yet, you haven’t asked and nobody has said, but you can imagine seeing him through the door. Waiting for you, waiting to kill you this time. 

Okay, yeah, maybe Spencer was right when he talked about PTSD and usual levels of anxiety, but you’re so tired of him being so right all of the time that you really want to prove him right.

There is no man standing on the other side of the door, though. Instead, you see Emily, holding a plate wrapped in tin foil and looking serene in your apartment hallway. 

You open the door quickly, unlatching it and turning off your alarm with a few clicks. “Emily?”

“Ah, man, I was getting used to Emmy,” she jokes, stepping inside with a smile in your direction and kicking off her shoes. 

You can’t think of an answer so you just smile at her, hoping she’ll take the lead. You’re tired and she must see it because she offers the plate in her hands to you once the door is closed and the alarm is reengaged. 

“Rossi sent me with it with explicit instructions to not let you share it.”

You giggle and take the plate. “I’ll have to tell him thank you. It’s kind of out of your way to come all this way, though, isn’t it?”

“Not out of my way at all,” she says, words dripping with meaning as she holds your eyes. “I would have come even if Rossi didn’t have food for you.”

“So why are you here?”

“To make a fool of myself,” she says, casually, like that’s something people say every day, “probably. You’ve just gotten back from the hospital and I know you said you wanted to be alone, but,” she swallows and her words are becoming more rushed as she speaks, “I said the same thing and you still stayed.”

“Emily?” You ask, setting the plate down on your hallway table and clearing your throat. “Ah, Emmy?” You amend when she cuts you a look. Your attempt to diffuse the tension doesn’t work and she steps closer so you’re toe to toe.

“That doesn’t really answer your question, though. You’re sweet enough that you would let it go, but,” she shrugs, reaching forward to gently loop her fingers around your wrists. “Stop me if this is awful timing. Please,” she says, leaning forward and staring into your eyes. 

You feel like you’re suffocating, but if this is death, you’ll greet it gladly in the irises of Emily Prentiss. You’re caught in the trap of the moment, heart hardly breathing, all aches and sores forgotten because Emily is leaning closer, breath fanning across your face. You feel intoxicated, ensnared. 

Everything that has ever been exists here, now, in this moment. Every breath used to blow out birthday candles and blow away eyelashes – breaths with purpose, with wishes, with intent – exists between the two of you as she leans closer and closer. Closer, still, and how can so much distance exist between you two when you’ve been standing so closely?

“Just, stop me, if you want,” she whispers against your lips, eyes falling shut. 

Time yawns again, freezing. Your eyes open, hers closed, beats of seconds pausing. Hesitating for you to hold this moment in your hands. You’re grateful to appreciate it because she really is so lovely. Her bangs are pushed back from her face with a headband – imagine that! Emily owns headbands! – and you can see every detail of her face. Her elegant nose, her slim eyebrows, her narrow, prominent, lips.

And then your heart finally catches up, beats loudly, cracks whatever fragile plane of glass holding the moment so perfectly still, and her lips are meeting yours. 

You gasp into her mouth, hands breaking out of her hold to grab her face. You’re afraid that she’s going to pull away before this kiss can be fully real. Before you can actually taste her – lemon cake and rain and warmth. Before you can memorize the feel of her lips pressed against your own before you can drag her closer and slip your hands into her hair. 

But she doesn’t pull away. She meets your enthusiasm with a sigh and then enthusiasm tenfold. You can feel relief in the kiss, feel how she relaxes into you. She takes a step forward and you take one back half the amount to account for it. 

A tilt of your head and it’s better, impossibly. She’s firm, sturdy, beautiful. Confident. Lovely, lovely, lovely. 

And then she reaches forward to hold you to her, hands brushing your ribs to wrap around your back and you can’t hold in the gasp of pain that causes you to stiffen. You want to take it back, want to ignore the pain, want to keep her near, but she won’t allow it.

“Oh, I’m so so sorry. Are you okay? I’m sorry.” You smush the apologies against her lips, removing one hand from her hand to guide her arms around your shoulders where they won’t hurt. “Okay! Okay,” she giggles, leaning back with several short kisses that do nothing to satiate you. “I need to know you’re okay.”

She can obviously tell she hasn’t hurt you too bad by your reaction, but the sweet caution in her voice has you melting further. 

“I’m perfect.”

[thir10th]

under the weather - October writing challenge day 8

summary: you're feeling sick and Emily takes care of you tw: smut, fingering, oral sex, i think that's it a/n: lmk if you liked this one because it kind of took a turn, as always i hope you do and remmeber any kind of feedback is greatly appreciated!

You hate being sick. You really hate it, there's only a few things you hate more in the world than this, and when you're sick even those seem completely unimportant.

You thow away the empty box and open the drawer to get a new one, when Sergio jumps to sit on the couch right next to you, finding the mix of blankets and cushions a little too confortable to pass.

While you scratch the little animal's head you can't help but think that, despite the sneezing, coughing, and generally feeling miserable for the last couple of days, if you got to spend them curled up on Emily’s couch, cocooned in blankets, surrounded by tissues and the remnants of tea cups, and with the best company, maybe sick wasn't so bad after all.

She has been insisting since day one, you wouldn't move from her apartment so she could keep an eye on you until you are all better. She of course has been fussing over you non-stop, which is sweet, but you hate being the sick one. It makes you feel weak and restless.

“I’m fine,” you insist, though your voice is hoarse, and your nose is still red from all the sneezing. “I don’t need to stay home. I can go to work.”

Emily, standing near the door in her work clothes, raises an eyebrow at you like you just told her something absurd. “You’re sneezing every two minutes and can barely breathe through your nose.” She crosses her arms, giving you that look, the one where she’s clearly amused but also worried. “You’re not going anywhere.”

“I’m not that bad,” you mutter, pulling the blanket up around your chin. “I’ve worked through worse.”

Emily sighs softly, walking over to you, sitting on the edge of the couch. She leans in, placing a hand on your forehead, her touch gentle and warm. “Sweetheart, you’re burning up. You need to rest.”

You groan, feeling her soft fingers graze your skin. “I hate being sick.”

“I know, baby, I know,” she murmurs, brushing a few strands of hair out of your face. “But I’m not letting you go anywhere like this.”

You pout, glancing up at her with tired eyes. “You’re leaving me, aren’t you?”

Emily’s expression softens, and she leans down, pressing a kiss to your temple. “I have to go into the office for a few hours, but I’ll be back before you know it. You’ll survive without me for a little while.” Her voice is soft, but you can tell she hates leaving you like this.

“Don’t go...” you whisper, wrapping your arms around her waist, trying to pull her closer. “I’ll miss you.”

Emily chuckles, clearly torn between her responsibilities and wanting to stay with you. “You’re being so dramatic,” she teases, kissing your forehead again, lingering a little longer this time. “I’ll only be gone for a few hours, and you’ve got Sergio to keep you company.”

You sigh, reluctantly letting her go. “Fine. But only because I wouldn't want him to feel too lonely"

Your childish pout makes her smile, she stands, smiling down at you, though there’s a flicker of guilt in her eyes. She hates leaving you when you’re not feeling well, but she knows she has to. “Promise me you’ll stay here, okay? Watch some bad reality TV, rest, and don’t overdo it.”

“Promise,” you say, giving her a half-hearted smile. “But only because I know you’ll nag me if I don’t.”

She grins, leaning down for one last kiss. “Exactly. I love you.”

“I love you too,” you murmur, closing your eyes as she pulls away. “Come back soon.”

Emily walks to the door, glancing back at you one more time with that look, the one that says she hates leaving but knows you’ll be okay. “I will. Rest up, baby.” She blows a kiss at you, and closes the door.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ.───

The hours pass slowly. You’re sprawled on the couch, half-watching some ridiculous reality show Emily suggested. Sergio is curled up beside you, purring contentedly, his warmth offering some comfort. But you can’t help but feel restless, the quiet of the apartment making you miss your girlfriend more than usual.

Your mind drifts between the terrible show and the thought of her returning. You sneeze for what feels like the hundredth time and groan, grabbing another tissue. Ugh, being sick sucks.

Just as you’re about to drift off to sleep, you hear the sound of keys in the door. Your eyes flutter open, and you sit up, excitement bubbling despite the grogginess.

Emily steps in, still looking as put-together as ever in her work attire, though you can tell she’s been in a rush to get back to you.

“Hey, baby,” she says softly, her face lighting up when she sees you. “How are you feeling?”

Without a second thought, you practically leap off the couch and run into her arms, ignoring the slight dizziness that comes with moving too fast. “You’re back!”

Emily laughs, catching you as you throw your arms around her, pulling her close. “Whoa, easy there. You’re supposed to be resting, remember?”

"You're so bossy! I missed you, I'm sick, I want my girlfriend" you complain, peppering her face with kisses

“I hate being here without you.” you mumble into her shoulder, nuzzling against her neck.

Emily melts a little, hugging you tightly, rubbing soothing circles on your back. "Oh, my poor baby,” she coos, her voice soft and full of affection. “I missed you too.” She presses a kiss to your forehead, her lips warm against your feverish skin. “But you should be in bed" she slaps your ass playfully.

Reluctantly, you pull back just enough to look at her. “Can we have dinner first? I’m starving.”

She smiles, brushing her thumb across your cheek. “Lucky for you, I brought soup.”

You grin, letting her go and following her to the kitchen. Emily sets the bag on the counter and pulls out the containers of soup, handing you a bowl. You eat on the couch, the warm soup and the company making you feel better already.

You spend the rest of the afternoon laying on the couch, watching trash tv, snuggled together. Emily caresses your skin, plays with your hair, tries her best to confort you the best way she knows, always touching you in some way.

As the night goes on, you start to feel a bit more energetic. Maybe the rest and soup helped, or maybe it’s just that you’ve missed Emily more than you realized.

You lean in closer, pressing soft kisses to her shoulder. “You know… I think I’m feeling a lot better now,” you whisper, your lips grazing her skin.

Emily glances at you, raising an eyebrow. “Oh really?” she says, amusement in her voice. “You were sneezing all over the place a few hours ago.”

You shrug, snuggling into her, your hand resting on her thigh. “I’m serious. I feel fine. Totally fine. And maybe we could... you know... do something other than watch TV?” You reach for the place where her shirt falls, leaving her shoulder's skin uncovered and kiss it, trace her with your lips.

Emily chuckles, her fingers playing with your hair. “Oh, I see what this is about.”

You grin, moving to kiss her neck. “Come on, I’m fine. I promise.”

She bites her lip, trying to stay firm, but you can see her resolve weakening. “You’re still sick, baby. You need to rest.”

“I’ll feel even better if we... you know.” You kiss her again, a little more insistently this time, your hand trailing up her side.

Emily sighs, clearly torn. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“You love me,” you say, grinning as you kiss her cheek, then her jaw, trailing your lips down her neck.

She groans, laughing softly as she gently pushes you back. “I do love you, but I’m not letting you make yourself worse just because you’re feeling a little better.”

You pout, grabbing her arm, pulling her closer. “Emily, come on. I’m fine.”

She narrows her eyes playfully. “You’re still sick, and I don’t want to make it worse.” She gives you a teasing smile, gently pinning you down onto the couch. “You need to rest.”

You giggle, trying to wriggle free, but she holds you in place. “I don’t want to rest! I want you.” she lets out a giggle "c'mon woman, just take me!" she full on chuckles now, you kiss her cheek, the corner of her mouth, her lips, but she stands, trying her best to get away from temptation.

You sit up, pouting, but there’s a mischievous gleam in your eyes. “Come on, I’m not contagious anymore,” you insist, holding out your hand for her to come back. “I swear!”

Emily laughs, backing toward the door as if she’s trying to escape. “Yeah, that’s what they all say,” she teases, “and then next thing you know, I’m sneezing, coughing, and downing cold medicine like it’s candy.”

You can’t help but laugh at how dramatically she’s playing along. “Emilyyyy, I’m totally fine! I promise.”

“Nope, not falling for it,” she says with a wink, trying to sound serious but clearly enjoying herself. “I don’t fuck with the infected.”

You crawl toward the edge of the couch, pretending to make a grab for her, and she squeals, running around the coffee table like you’re some kind of zombie about to infect her. “Get back here!” you laugh, trying to catch her as she dodges your reach.

Emily gives a mock gasp. “Stay back, germ monster! You’ll have to try harder than that!”

But after a few more moments of running around, Emily finally gives in, letting you catch her by the waist. She giggles as you pull her back onto the couch with you, both of you laughing as you collapse into a pile of limbs.

“I’m serious though,” you murmur, pressing your lips to her neck. “I’m fine now...”

Emily looks down at you, smirking. “Mm-hmm. We’ll see about that,” she says, still half-teasing but clearly weakening to your advances as your kisses grow more insistent.

But she stands up again, taking your hand, kissing your forehead again. “We’re going to bed, okay? Tomorrow we'll see about that, but I want you to rest today” she says, her voice soft but firm. “For me?”

You huff dramatically, but you can’t help but smile. “Fine. For you.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ.───

1.30 am, or so the bedside table clock says. You keep shifting, but it's useless, you're hot and bothered, and still restless from your cold, but that's long forgotten. Emily's chest moves with her slow breathing beside you.

Trying not to wake her up, you slowly get up from bed and go to the kitchen to find something you can kill some time with.

It's only been 5 minutes when Emily wakes up to find you missing from the bed. Frowning, she slips out from under the covers and pads into the kitchen, where she finds you sitting at the table, Sergio perched on your lap.

“Can’t sleep?” Emily asks softly, her voice still husky from sleep.

You look up at her, giving her a sheepish smile. “I’m fine,” you say. “I just... couldn’t get comfortable.”

Emily sighs, walking over to you. “You’re still sick, you know.”

You grin mischievously, leaning back in the chair. "Yes, but you know what they say"

She smiles, stepping closer to you "That you should always listen to your girlfriend when she tells you to stay in bed?" she jokes, but your answer comes fast enough.

"No silly, that the best way to put someone to sleep is an orgasm by the best girlfriend in the world"

Emily’s eyes widen in surprise, but then she smirks, crossing her arms. “You’re unbelievable.”

She pauses for a moment, considering, before her smirk softens into a warm smile. “Alright. Come on, troublemaker.”

She takes your hand and leads you back to the bedroom. You jump happily and grab her waist from behind trying to get her as close to you as you possibly can.

Once under the covers, you lean in, kissing her deeply, your hands wandering up her back. Emily kisses you back, her touch gentle, her lips soft against yours as the heat builds between you.

Her mouth feels hot and heavy against yours, all lips and teeth, she makes your breath hitch.

She lifts your sleeping shirt slowly to find your breasts, braking the kiss to pay some attention to your chest. She takes her nipple in her mouth, playing with it with the tip of her tongue. Sucking on it. And then the other so it's not jealous.

A soft moan escapes your lips when she frees your nipple with a gently tug, and her lips are back on yours again.

"We have to get those sweatpants off of you," she murmurs inbetween kisses.

Emily pushes them down and you kick them behind, easing herself back down onto you. She moves her tongue along your neck then sucks on a sensitive pulse point, making you moan.

Her hand working south to reach your centre, she works fast and easy moving her fingers slowly along your slit.

She grazes a finger over your clitoris and you bite her lip in surprise, she lets out a whimper that you swallow immediately, the kiss so heavy you might combust.

Your breathing accelerates when Emily increased the speed of her hand as it worked the swollen bundle of nerves. You let out a desperate moan when she places her fingers just outside your opening, taunting and stroking your nether lips. "Don't tease me," you whine,  raising your hips in a desperate attempt to impale yourself on Emily's fingers to relieve the ache inside.

Finally, Emily's tormenting fingers plunge into you, synchronizing the movement of her hand with the rhythm of your hips as you buck against her with furor. 

Her lips never leaving your mouth as your orgasm takes over, allowing you ride your high until the aftershocks wear out. You kiss the corner of her mouth affectionately, and she smiles at you, her hand moving loose strands of hair behind.

Before she can even react, you grab her hips and turn her around so that you're now on top of her and her head is resting against the pillows.

"hey, what are you doing?" she frowns in confusion "You said an orgasm to help you sleep, c'mon" but you don't listen, and instead you kiss her lips, softly first, then your open mouth finds her tongue with yours. It makes it hard for her to complain when you're kissing her so lovingly, so softly, so sensual.

You leave her mouth to reach lower for her nipple. Her breasts always the most sensitive part of her, you know how to play her body well, where to kiss, how to lick, how to use your teeth, and a long moan escapes her mouth, making you smile against the tender flesh of her breast.

You reach lower to find her thighs , the soft, pale skin looking so inviting for your lips you can't resist the teasing of kissing and biting here and there. You can feel her impatience when her hand reaches to gran¡b you by the back of your head, directing you where she wants you the most.

You practically devour her, not even bothering to take your time, your tongue flat against her slit, your lips trapping her sensitive bud making her whimper in pleasure. You eat her out like she's your last meal, and for the sounds she makes you can tell she's loving it, her hand still on your head keeping your mouth in place.

It's almost too sweet and tender, despite the loud moans escaping her mouth, but the way you kiss, the covers still soumd you, the room silent, is the sweetest kind of love making, and you almost wish you could simply spend the rest of the night like this.

Emily's body tenses and she grabs a fistful of your hair as she comes fighting for breath. When her body finally relaxes she releases a sigh of relief. You come up from behind the covers and snuggle her closely as she enjoys the aftershocks. You give her a chaste kiss, and she can barely respond but you can feel her smile against your lips.

You both lay tangled under the covers, the soft warmth of the sheets cocooning you as you snuggle into Emily’s arms. Her hand traces lazy patterns on your back, her fingers soothing against your skin. You feel a sense of peaceful exhaustion settle over you, the tension from your earlier restlessness now completely gone.

“That was... definitely enough to put me to sleep,” you murmur with a sleepy smile, your head resting against Emily’s chest as you listen to the steady rhythm of her heartbeat.

Emily chuckles softly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Good. You’ve been fighting sleep all day.” Her voice is gentle, low, and full of warmth as she wraps her arms a little tighter around you, holding you close.

You tilt your head up to look at her, your eyes half-closed but filled with contentment. “You always know exactly how to take care of me.”

She smirks slightly, her eyes twinkling as she brushes a loose strand of hair from your face. “Well, someone has to. You’re stubborn as hell when you’re sick.”

You let out a soft laugh, nuzzling into her neck. “I love you, you know that?”

Emily smiles down at you, her fingers gently caressing your cheek. “I love you too. Even when you’re being a total handful.” She leans in, pressing a slow, tender kiss to your lips. It’s soft and sweet, the kind of kiss that makes your heart swell with affection.

Just as you’re about to drift off into a peaceful sleep, you feel Emily tense up slightly beside you. Then, out of nowhere—

“Achoo!”

You sit up a little, blinking in surprise, then grin as you realize what just happened. “Did you just sneeze?” you ask, a playful lilt to your voice.

Emily groans, rubbing her nose as she looks over at you with a resigned expression. “Oh no.”

You giggle, pulling the blanket up to cover her more snugly. “Looks like I might’ve gotten you sick.”

She gives you a mock glare but can’t help the smile tugging at her lips. “I don’t know whether to be mad or impressed.”

You laugh softly, snuggling back into her, wrapping your arms around her waist. “I’m sorry! Guess I really am contagious.”

Emily sighs dramatically, but there’s a playful light in her eyes. “Great. Now I’m going to be the one sneezing and coughing.” you can't help the grin spreading across your face "I can't believe it! See, i told you this is exactly what i meant when i say i don't fuck witht he infected!"

You kiss her shoulder softly, grinning against her skin. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of you. You know... payback.”

Emily chuckles, pulling you even closer. “You better. I’m not above making you play nurse for me.”

You snuggle closer to Emily, your fingers tracing lazy patterns on her arm as you tease, “You like that, huh? How about a sexy nurse to take care of you?” Your tone is playful, a mischievous grin spreading across your face.

Emily raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Oh yeah?” she asks, voice laced with humor. “And what exactly does this sexy nurse do?”

You bite your lip, leaning in to kiss her softly on the neck before murmuring, “Whatever you need.”

Emily chuckles, her arms pulling you even closer. “I’ll keep that in mind.” She presses a soft kiss to your forehead, her lips lingering there. “You’re going to have your hands full with me, though.”

“I think I’m up for the challenge,” you whisper, tilting your head to catch her lips in another gentle kiss.

Just as the moment deepens, Emily pulls back, her body tensing. “Achoo!”

You can’t help but giggle, shaking your head as you press your forehead to hers. “Looks like you’ll be my first patient.”

Emily groans dramatically. “I knew I shouldn’t have let you get me sick.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll make it worth your while,” you say, kissing her once more.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ.───

This one's to myself because i catch a cold every two weeks istg. Anyways, remember to comment and reblog if you want me to write more! Because this challenge is getting frustrating :((

[1bisschenmelancholie]

Locked Evidence

⋆˚࿔ emily prentiss x female reader

you were supposed to file reports, not fall apart in her hands.

locked in an evidence room after hours, the line between professional restraint and months of unspoken desire finally snaps. sharp looks turn into sharper touches. emily presses, you break. it’s messy, controlled, real. and when it’s over, neither of you can pretend it didn’t mean something.

⋆˚࿔ disclaimer and possible tw: mature content

You didn’t plan on ending up here.

You were supposed to be wrapping up a late consult at the local precinct — something routine, something dry. But now you were standing in the small, locked evidence room on the third floor, fluorescent lights overhead, a file clutched in your hand that definitely didn't need this much attention. And Emily Prentiss was across from you, far too close for comfort.

Or maybe... just close enough.

The tension in the room had been building all week. Quiet looks over case files. Accidental brushes of fingers. A low laugh shared too long after a joke ended. It wasn't new. But tonight it had teeth. A pulse. A direction.

And now there was nowhere to go.

Emily leaned back against the counter, one hand braced beside a cardboard box labeled Property of Forensics. Her blouse sleeves were rolled to the elbows. Her hair was slightly undone from the long day. There was a faint smear of ink on her thumb. She didn't seem to notice you staring.

But she did.

She always noticed.

"So," she said, voice low, too calm. "What are we doing here, really?"

You blinked. "Looking at evidence."

She gave a dry smile. "That what we're calling it?"

You didn't answer.

She pushed off the counter slowly. Stepped toward you. Each movement felt like it took hours. Your breath caught in your throat — not fear. Anticipation. Electricity.

Her eyes flicked down to your hand. "You've been holding that same file for ten minutes."

"Maybe I'm being thorough."

"Maybe you're avoiding something."

You laughed, too sharp. "Like what?"

Emily tilted her head. "You tell me."

The air between you was humid with tension. So thick you could profile it. That heady, suffocating kind that clung to your skin. The kind that didn't need touching to feel intimate.

"I think," she said quietly, "we're both too smart to pretend this isn't happening."

You swallowed. "This?"

"The staring. The silence. The way you always stand just a little too close when we brief."

Your throat was dry. "You never say anything."

Emily's mouth curved slightly. "Would you prefer I had?"

You didn't know. You weren't sure.

"I think about it," she said.

That made you look up. Directly. No place to hide.

Emily's voice stayed low, private. "Sometimes in the field. Sometimes at night. I think about what it would feel like if you finally stopped holding back."

You stepped back instinctively — and hit the locked door.

Her gaze didn't waver.

"Is that what this is?" you asked. "Some game?"

She was in front of you now, barely inches away. Her hand rose — not to touch — just to hover, deliberately, beside your shoulder. A warning. A test.

"This isn't a game," she said. "But I'm tired of pretending."

Your pulse thudded in your neck. You didn't move.

"You say stop," Emily murmured, "and I'll walk out right now. But if you don't..."

You didn't.

She kissed you.

God, she kissed you like she'd been waiting for months — slow and hot and devastatingly careful, her hand bracing the door beside your head. Her body didn't press into you, not yet. She kept space, even as her mouth made promises her hands hadn't yet touched.

You groaned into her. Soft. Stunned.

She pulled back half an inch. Her eyes searched yours.

"Still want me to stop?"

You didn't speak. You grabbed her by the collar instead and pulled her back in.

That was all it took.

Emily's hands found your waist, urgent now, fingers sliding under your blazer and gripping the fabric beneath. She kissed like she fought — strategic, sharp, effective. Her mouth moved over yours like she'd mapped it, knew where to go and how long to stay. She made you feel devoured without ever being rough.

Your back hit the door again.

She bit your lip.

You gasped.

"God, you're responsive," she breathed. "You've wanted this."

You didn't deny it.

"I've seen it in the way you look at me. The way you never step back." Her hand skimmed your hip. "You've been aching for this."

She wasn't wrong.

Emily's thigh nudged between your legs and you shuddered. Your hands gripped her shoulders. You kissed her back now, harder, messier with your restraint finally cracking like thin ice.

She chuckled low in your throat. "There you are."

"Shut up."

"Make me."

So you did.

You kissed her like the last word didn't matter — like winning had always meant surrendering. Your hands slid up under her shirt, fingers brushing skin. She was warm, firm, real.

"Fuck," you whispered.

Emily spun you suddenly, crowding you into the wall beside the evidence shelves. Her mouth moved to your neck, her voice all gravel and heat. "You think this is bad now?"

She bit the underside of your jaw.

You nearly collapsed.

Her hand found your belt.

Then paused.

Emily leaned in again, her lips just at your ear.

"Say it," she whispered. "Say you want me."

You gasped, half-breathless. "I want you."

She grinned.

"Good."

She didn't wait after that.

Emily's mouth was on yours again, hotter now, fuller, hungry. Her hands didn't shake, but they trembled with intent. You could feel it in the way her fingers unfastened your belt, in the low hum of her breath when you gasped against her lips.

She was in control.

But not careless.

Every touch was a question.

Every kiss was an answer.

"You want this," she said again, but not like she needed confirmation—like she just wanted you to hear it out loud.

You nodded, dazed. "Yes. Fuck. Yes."

Your pants hit the floor. Hers followed. Shirts tangled between you. Somewhere in the room, your ID badge clattered onto the tile. You barely noticed.

Emily pushed you gently back into the wall, one hand sliding behind your thigh to hitch it around her hip. The motion sent heat ripping through your body like a fuse. Her other hand stayed between you, palming your center through your underwear, slow and deliberate.

You moaned.

She smiled.

"God, you're soaked already."

"Emily—"

She slid your underwear down with a precision that bordered on reverent. Her fingers traced your skin as she did, as if memorizing every new inch. When her hand returned to your thigh, she lifted you just enough to grind her hips into yours.

It wasn't fast.

It wasn't slow.

It was maddening.

"You think the others ever noticed?" she asked into your neck. "How badly I watched you?"

You shuddered. "I noticed."

"Did you like it?"

You didn't answer.

Emily's fingers slipped between your legs.

You gasped.

"Answer me."

"Yes," you choked. "God, yes."

She kissed your shoulder. Then your collarbone. Then lower, pressing her mouth over the place where your pulse beat furiously against your skin.

"I thought about you," she said, each word sinking like a stone. "During stakeouts. On long flights. I imagined this."

Her fingers circled your clit—soft, slow, unbearable. Your hands clenched in her hair.

"Did you ever think about me?"

Your breath broke. "All the time."

She didn't speak after that.

She let her hand do the talking.

Two fingers slid inside you, curling just right, drawing sounds from your throat you didn't know you could make. Her mouth moved against your neck, your jaw, your cheek—kissing you through every stutter of breath, every buck of your hips.

You gripped her tight. She moved tighter.

There was nothing polite about it anymore.

You were moaning into her mouth, your back arched off the wall, your body begging for more without needing to speak.

And Emily… Emily was relentless.

She whispered things you couldn't process.

Called you beautiful.

Said your name like it was prayer and profanity in one breath.

You came with a broken sob into her shoulder, thighs trembling, face buried in her neck. She held you through it, didn't stop, didn't pull away—not until your body stilled and your heart thudded in the silence.

Then she kissed you.

Soft.

Gentle.

Long.

And you kissed her back like you were never going to stop.

—

Minutes later, you sat tangled on the cold tile, still half-dressed, the lock on the door mocking you quietly from across the room.

Emily leaned back against the wall, brushing sweat-stuck hair from her temple. She was flushed. Glowing.

You looked at her.

She looked back.

Neither of you spoke.

Until:

"Well," she said, lips curving lazily. "That was... professional."

You laughed. Broken. Breathless. "Yeah. Real textbook."

Emily reached over, fingers grazing your wrist. "We should probably... you know. Go."

You nodded. But you didn't move.

She didn't either.

A beat passed.

Then her voice, quiet again: "That wasn't just a one-time thing for me."

You blinked.

"I don't know what it is yet," she said. "But it's something."

You nodded slowly. "Yeah. It is."

She leaned in, pressed one last kiss to the corner of your mouth.

"You're gonna ruin me," she murmured.

You smiled.

"Right back at you."

a/n: probably should try sleeping instead of writing, i‘m kind of embarrassed